11)3. 


;/y' 


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'  The  car  foil;  but  instinctively  I  clung  to  the  cords." 

Page  35. 


Fill  k  Ckids  to  tlic  Ikiiitaiiis. 


COMPEISING  ^TARRATITES  OF 


STRANGE  ADVENTURES  BY  AIR,  LAND",  AND  WATER. 


BY  JULES   VJ:RNE, 

AUTUOB  OF  " TwENTi  Thousand  Leaooes  undee  the  Sea,"  "A  Toue 

KOITNU  THE  WOBLD  1>-   EIGHTY  DAYS,"  ETC., 


WITH    A   CIUPTER   BY   PAXIL   VERNE,    BROTHER   OF    JULES   VERNE 


TRANSLATED   BY  A.  L.  ALGER. 


Bn  Jibe  Iparts. 


BOSTON : 

WILLIAM     F.    GILL    AND    COMPANY, 

151  "Washington  Street. 
1874. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1874,  by 

WILLIAM    F.    GILL   *    CO.. 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Stkeeotypep  by  C.  J.  Peteks  *  R"N. 
73  Fedkbai  St.,  Boston. 

Boston  : 
Press  of  Rand,  Aveuy,  &  Co.,  11"  Franklin  Street 


EDITOR'S    PREFACE. 


This  new  volume  by  Jules  Verne  is  made  up  of  tales  •writ- 
ten by  him  at  very  different  dates.  "Dr.  Ox  "  is  quite 
recent,  having  been  suggested  to  the  author  of  "Strange 
Journeys  "  by  a  most  interesting  experiment  made  in  Paris 
a  few  years  since  ;  but  the  other  stories,  entitled  "Master 
Zachary,"  "  A  Winter  in  the  Ice-Fields,"  and  "A  Drama  in 
Mid- Air,"  were  written  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  and  are 
consequently  anterior  to  the  series  of  works  which  have  so 
justly  made  the  name  of  Jules  Verne  famous.  "We  thought 
it  only  right  to  include  these  stories  in  a  complete  edition  of 
Verne's  works,  as  they  assuredly  reflect  no  discredit  on  him. 
In  them  the  reader  may  discover,  may  foresee,  the  germs  of 
more  important  works,  such  as  "  Five  Weeks  in  a  Balloon," 
"  Captain  Hatteras,"  and  "  The  Fur  Country,"  which  have 
been  so  successful.  They  are  interesting  as  being  the  only 
collection  of  short  stories  ever  published  by  Verne,  and  the 
only  one  of  his  works  which  has  never  previously  been 
translated. 

A  story  which  has  nothing  fictitious  in  it,  imder  the  title 
of  "  The  Fortieth  French  Ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,"  concludes 
the  book.  The  story  and  the  ascent  were  made  by  M.  Paul 
Verne,  brother  of  M.  Jules  Verne.      We  have  thought  fit  to 

3 


4  EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 

add  to  Jules  Verne's  * '  Strange  Journeys  "  this  account  of  an 
excursion  made  by  his  brother  under  most  trying  circum- 
stances, and  which  ranks  M.  Paul  Verne  among  our  first 
Alpine  climbers. 

From  this  medley  results  a  volume  of  very  varied  elements, 
strange,  true,  and  false,  which  we  hope  may  please  many. 


CONTEI^TS. 


PAKT  I. 

A  Drama  in  Mid-Air.  Narrating  an  Adventure  in  the 
Infinite  Space  above  the  Clouds 7 

PAKT    II. 

De.  Ox's  Hobby.  Narrating  the  Adventure  of  Dr.  Ox 
in  the  Flemish  City  of  Quiquendone      .        .        .        .37 

PART   III. 

Master  Zachaby.  Narrating  the  Strange  Story  of  the 
Geneva  Watchmaker 117 

PART   IV. 

A  Winter  a>iong  the  Ice-Fieids,  Narrating  the  Ad- 
ventures of  the  Crew  of  "  The  Young  Adventurer " 
in  the  Polar  Seas 168 

PART   V. 

The  Fortieth  French  Ascext  of  Mokt  Blanc. 
Narrating  the  True  Story  of  the  Ascent  of  Mont 
Blanc  by  Paul  Yeme,  Brotlier  of  Jules  Yerne      .        .  256 


A  DRAMA  IN  MID -AIR. 


TN  September,  185-,  I  arrived  in  Frankfort-on-the- 
-*-  Main.  My  passage  tkrough  the  chief  cities  of 
Germany  had  been  marked  by  a  brilliant  series  of  aeros- 
tatic ascensions,  but  up  to  this  time  no  native  of  the 
Confederation  had  accompanied  me  in  my  car  ;  and  the 
charming  Parisian  experiences  of  MM.  Green,  Eugene, 
Godard,  and  Poitevin  had  been  powerless  to  persuade 
the  grave  Germans  to  dare  aerial  roads. 

However,  the  news  of  my  speedy  ascent  had  scarcely 
been  announced  in  Frankfort,  when  three  prominent 
citizens  requested  permission  to  join  me.  We  were  to 
rise  two  days  later,  from  the  Place  de  la  Comedie.  I 
at  once  began  to  prepare  my  balloon.  It  was  silk, 
coated  with  gutta-percha,  a  substance  impervious  to 
gas  or  acid,  absolutely  air  and  water  tight ;  and  its  size 
—  three  thousand  cubic  feet  —  allowed  of  its  rising  to 
the  greatest  heights. 


8  A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

The  day  for  oiir  ascent  fell  during  the  great  Septem- 
ber fair,  which  draws  such  crowds  to  Franlvfort.  My 
gas,  of  prime  quality  and  great  ascensional  force,  had 
been  prepared  under  excellent  conditions  ;  and  towards 
eleven  in  the  morning  the  balloon  was  filled,  though  only 
three-quarters  full,  —  a  necessary  precaution  ;  for,  as  we 
rise,  the  atmospheric  strata  duninish  in  density ;  and 
the  fluid  confined  in  the  balloon,  increasing  inelasticity, 
might  easily  bm-st  it.  I  had  calculated  the  exact 
amount  of  gas  required  to  raise  my  companions  and 
m3'self. 

We  were  to  start  at  noon.  It  was  a  magnificent 
sight  to  see  the  impatient  crowd  as  the}'  pressed  about 
the  lines,  thronged  the  whole  place,  overflowed  into 
the  neighboring  streets,  and  hung  out  of  every  house 
from  basement  to  attic.  The  great  gales  of  the  few 
previous  days  had  died  awa}'.  An  overpowering  heat 
fell  from  a  cloudless  sky.  Not  a  breath  stirred  the  air. 
In  such  weather  one  might  descend  in  the  very  spot 
from  which  he  rose. 

I  took  three  hundred  pounds  ballast,  in  bags.  The 
round  car,  four  feet  in  diameter  by  three  in  depth,  was 
comfortably  furnished.  The  net  which  held  it  stretched 
sj-mmetricall^'over  the  upper  hemisphere  of  the  balloon  ; 
the  compass  was  in  place,  the  barometer  swung  to  the 
hoop  where  the  supporting  ropes  were  joined,  and  the 
anchor  carefully  cleared.     We  were  ready  to  start. 

Among  the  people  who  pressed  about  the  enclosure, 


A  DRAMA   IN  MID- AIR.  9 

I  noticed  a  pale  and  excited  3'oung  man.  His  face 
attracted  me.  He  was  often  a  looker-on  at  my  ascents  ; 
for  I  had  already  met  him  in  several  German  cities. 
With  an  uneasy  air  he  greedily  gazed  at  the  curious 
machine  which  hung  motionless  a  few  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  spoke  to  no  one  in  the  crowd. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck.  It  was  the  decisive  moment. 
M}^  travelling  companions  were  not  in  sight.  I  sent 
to  each  one's  house,  and  learned  that  one  had  gone  to 
Hamburg,  one  to  Vienna,  and  the  third  to  London. 
Courage  had  failed  them,  at  the  last  moment,  to  take 
one  of  these  excursions,  which,  thanks  to  the  skill  of 
professional  balloonists,  are  utterly  free  from  danger. 
As  they  were,  in  some  sort,  a  part  of  the  programme, 
they  feared  lest  they  might  be  forced  to  carr}^  it  out, 
and  had  fled  the  stage  just  as  the  cm-tain  rose.  Their 
courage  was  e^ddentl}'  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  square  of 
their  speed  in  running  away. 

The  crowd  thus  cheated  showed  much  ill-humor.  I 
had  no  fear  of  going  up  alone.  In  order  to  balance 
the  specific  gra\-it3^  of  the  balloon,  and  the  weight  it 
was  to  have  carried,  I  replaced  my  companions  by 
sand -bags,  and  got  into  the  car.  The  twelve  men  who 
held  the  balloon  by  twelve  ropes  fixed  to  the  equatorial 
circle  let  them  slip  slightly  through  their  fingers  ;  and 
the  balloon  rose  several  feet.  There  was  not  a  breath 
of  air ;  and  the  atmosphere,  heavy  as  lead,  seemed 
impenetrable. 


10  A  DRAMA  IN  MID.-AIR. 

"All  ready?"  I  cried. 

The  men  made  ready.  A  glance  showed  me  that  I 
could  start. 

"Attention!" 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  crowd,  which  seemed 
to  enter  the  enclosure. 

"Let  go!" 

The  balloon  rose  slowly ;  but  I  felt  a  shock  which 
threw  me  to  the  bottom  of  the  car. 

When  I  rose,  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  an 
unexpected  traveller,  —  the  pale  young  man. 

"  Sir,  I  salute  you,"  said  he  with  great  gravity. 

"By  what  right  ?"  — 

"Am  I  here?  By  the  right  given  me  by  the  im- 
possibility of  your  sending  me  away." 

I  was  confounded.  His  self-possession  put  me  out 
of  countenance  :  I  had  no  reply. 

I  stared  at  the  intruder ;  but  he  took  no  notice  of 
my  surprise. 

"My  weight  disturbs  your  equilibrium,  sir?"  said 
he.     "  Allow  me  "  — 

And,  without  waiting  my  consent,  he  threw  out  two 
sand-bags. 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  pursuing  the  only  course  left  me, 
"  you  have  come,  so  be  it.  You  must  remain,  so  be  it ; 
but  the  care  of  the  balloon  belongs  to  me  alone." 

"  Sii',"  he  replied,  "your  courtesy  is  quite  French. 
It  is  a  native  of  my  own  country.     I  morally  press  the 


A  DRAMA  IN  MID-AIR.  11 

hand  3-0U  refuse  me.  Take  your  own  measures,  and  act 
as  seems  good  to  yon.  I  will  wait  till  you  are  at 
leisure  "  — 

"Wait?" 

"  To  talk  with  you." 

The  barometer  had  faUen  to  twenty-six  inches.  "We 
were  nearly  six  hundred  feet  above  the  city  ;  but  noth- 
ing disturbed  the  horizontal  position  of  the  balloon, 
for  the  mass  of  air  in  which  it  is  enclosed  moves  with 
it.  A  glassy  heat  bathed  all  objects  beneath  us,  mak- 
ing them  unfortunately  indistinct. 

I  again  examined  my  companion. 

He  was  a  man  of  some  thirty  years  of  age,  simply 
dressed.  His  rudely-cut  features  betrayed  indomita- 
ble energj^,  and  he  seemed  very  strong.  Giving  him- 
self up  to  the  wonders  of  his  silent  ascent,  he 
remained  motionless,  trying  to  distinguish  the  objects 
below,  which  were  mingled  in  one  vague  whole. 

"Confounded  fog!"  said  he  after  a  few  moments' 
pause. 

I  said  nothing. 

"You  are  angry  with  me!"  he  added.  "Bah!  I 
could  not  pay  my  fare  ;  so  that  I  had  to  take  you  by 
surprise." 

"  Nobody  asks  you  to  leave,  sir." 

"Well,  don't  you  know  that  the  very  same  thing 
happened  to  Counts  Laurencin  and  De  Dampierre,  when 
they  went  up  at  Lyons,  Jan.    15,   1784?    A  young 


12  A   DRAMA   JN  MID-AIR 

merchant  named  Fontaine  climbed  into  the  car  at  the 
risk  of  capsizing  the  balloon.  He  made  the  round 
trip,  and  it  killed  nobody." 

"  Reserve  your  explanations  until  we  are  on  firm 
ground  again,"  I  replied,  piqued  at  the  easy  tone  in 
which  he  spoke. 

' '  Pooh  !     Don't  think  of  returning  !  " 

' '  Can  you  suppose  that  I  shall  delay  descending  ?  " 

"Descending!"  said  he  with  surprise,  —  "de- 
scending !     Let  us  think  of  ascending  first." 

And  before  I  could  prevent  it  two  sand-bags  were 
thi'own  from  the  car  without  even  being  emptied. 

"  Sir !  "  I  cried  angrily. 

"  I  know  your  skill,"  sedately  replied  the  stranger ; 
"  and  your  fine  ascents  are  famous.  But,  if  experi- 
ence is  the  sister  of  practice,  it  is  at  least  cousin  to 
theory  ;  and  I  have  studied  aerostatics  thoroughl}- .  It 
has  affected  my  brain,"  he  added  sadlj',  falling  into  a 
brown  study. 

The  balloon,  having  risen  once  more,  was  now  sta- 
tionaiy.  The  stranger  consulted  the  barometer,  and 
said,  — 

"  Here  we  are,  eight  hundred  feet  high.  Men  below 
look  like  insects.  See  !  I  verily  believe  the}'  should 
always  be  considered  from  this  height,  if  we  would 
sanely  judge  their  real  proportions.  The  Place  de  la 
Comedie  has  become  a  vast  ant-hill.  Look  at  the 
crowd  upon  the  quad's  and  the  fading  Zeil.     We  are 


A   DRAMA   IN  3f ID-AIR.  13 

just  above  the  cathedi*al.  The  Main  is  nothing  but  a 
white  line  cutting  the  town  in  twain  ;  and  that  bi'idge- 
across  it  seems  like  a  thread  thi'own  from  shore  to 
shore." 

The  atmosphere  was  growing  chill. 

"  There  is  nothing  that  I  will  not  do  for  you,  mine 
host,"  said  my  companion.  "  If  you  are  cold,  I  will 
take  off  my  clothes  and  lend  them  to  you." 

"  Thanks  !  "  I  replied  diyly. 

"Bah!  Necessity  knows  no  law.  Give  me  your 
hand.  I  am  your  fellow-countrj-man  ;  you'll  learn  a 
great  deal  from  me ;  and  my  conversation  Avill  repay 
you  for  the  annoj'ance  I've  caused  3'ou." 

I  sat  down  without  answering,  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  car.  The  3'oung  man  drew  a  large  book  from 
his  coat-pocket.     It  was  a  "vfork  on  aerostatics. 

"  I  own,"  said  he,  "the  most  cm-ious  collection  of  en- 
gra\ings  and  caricatures  on  the  subject  of  our  aerial 
craze.  How  the  precious  discoverj-  has  been  at  once 
admired  and  scoffed  at !  Fortunatel}'  we  no  longei 
live  in  an  age  when  Mongolfieres  tiy  to  make  artificial 
clouds  with  steam,  and  to  produce  electric  gas  by  burn- 
ing damp  straw  and  wool." 

' '  Why  decry  the  inventors'  merit  ?  "  I  replied  ;  for  I 
had  resigned  m3'seLf  to  fate.  "  "Was  it  not  gi-and  to 
prove  by  experience  the  possibility  of  rising  through 
the  air?" 

"  "Well,  sir,  who  denies  the  glory  of  the  first  navigat- 
2 


14  A  DRAMA  IN  MID-AIR. 

ors  of  the  air  ?  It  required  immense  courage  to  ti'ust 
one's  self  to  sucli  frail  wrappers  containing  nouglit  but 
heated  air.  But  let  me  ask  you,  Has  not  aerostatic  sci- 
ence made  a  great  advance  since  Blanchard's  ascents, 
nearly  a  century  ago?     Look  here,  sir  !  " 

The  stranger  selected  an  engraving  from  his  collec- 
tion. "  Here,"  he  said,  "  is  the  fii'st  aerial  voyage 
undertaken  by  Pilatre  des  Hosiers  and  the  Marquis  d'Ar- 
landes,  four  months  after  the  discovery  of  the  balloon. 
Louis  XVI.  refused  his  consent  to  the  voj'age ;  and  two 
criminals  sentenced  to  death  were  ordered  to  be  the 
first  to  tr}'  aerial  roads.  Pilatre  des  Rosiers  was  furi- 
ous at  this  injustice,  and  by  means  of  various  in- 
trigues succeeded  in  getting  off.  The  car,  which  so 
facilitates  things,  was  not  yet  invented  ;  and  a  circular 
gallery  ran  round  the  lower  and  smaller  part  of  the 
Mongolfiere.  The  two  aeronauts  were  obliged  to  cling 
motionless  to  the  edge  of  this  galler}' ;  for  the  damp 
straw  which  encumbered  it  prevented  any  motion.  A 
chafing-dish  with  fire  hung  beneath  the  mouth  of  the 
balloon.  When  the  travellers  wished  to  rise,  they  threw 
straw  on  this  brazier,  at  the  risk  of  setting  fire  to  the 
machine  ;  and  the  hot  air  gave  the  balloon  new  ascen- 
sional force.  The  two  bold  navigators  started  Nov. 
21,  1783,  from  the  Gardens  de  la  Muette,  which  the 
dauphin  had  placed  at  their  service.  The  balloon  rose 
majestically'  over  Swan  Island,  crossed  the  Seine  at  the 
Barriere  de  la  Conference,  and,  taking  its  wa}'  between 


A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR.  15 

the  dome  of  the  Invalides  and  the  Military  School,  ap- 
proached Saint  Siilpice.  Then  the  aeronauts  fed  the 
flames,  crossed  the  boulevard,  and  descended  beyond 
the  Barriere  d'Enfer.  As  it  touched  ground,  the  bal- 
loon gave  way,  and  bmied  Pilati*e  des  Rosiers  for  a  few 
moments  beneath  its  folds." 

"  An  Q\W.  omen,"  said  I,  much  interested  in  these 
details,  which  touched  me  nearly. 

"An  omen  of  the  catastrophe  which  afterwards  cost 
the  unfortunate  man  his  life,"  replied  the  stranger 
sadly.     "  Have  jon  never  known  a  similar  case  ? " 

"Never." 

"Pooh!  Misfortunes  often  come  without  e^il 
omens,"  added  my  companion. 

And  he  said  no  more. 

Still  we  advanced  towards  the  south ;  and  Frankfort 
had  ah-eady  fled  beneath  our  feet. 

"  We  may  have  a  storm,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  "We  Anil  descend  betimes,"  replied  I. 

"  Bless  m}'  heart !  We'd  better  ascend.  We  should 
be  more  sure  to  escape  it." 

And  two  more  sand-bags  vanished  in  space. 

The  balloon  rose  rapidly,  and  stopped  at  twelve  hun- 
dred feet.  A  severe  chiU  was  felt,  although  the  rays  of 
the  sun,  falling  on  the  sm-face,  dilated  the  gas  within, 
and  gave  it  greater  ascensional  force. 

"  Fear  nothing,"  said  the  sti'anger.  "  We  have  three 
thousand,  five  hundred  fathoms  of  respu-able  air.  Be- 
sides that,  you  needn't  mind  what  I  do." 


16  A   DRAMA   IN  MID- AIR. 

I  was  about  to  rise ;  but  a  strong  hand  nailed  me 
to  vay  seat. 

"  Your  name?  "  I  asked. 

' '  My  name  ?     AYliat's  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  ask  30U  j'our  name." 

"  M}'  name  is  Erostratus,  or  Empedocles,  as  you 
like." 

This  reply  was  by  no  means  encouraging. 

The  stranger,  besides,  spoke  with  such  singular  sang- 
froid, that  I  anxiously  asked  mj-self  with  whom  I  had 
to  deal. 

"  Sir,"  he  continued,  "  nothing  new  has  been  discov- 
ered since  Dr.  Charles's  time.  Four  months  after  the 
discovery  of  the  balloon,  that  skilful  man  invented  the 
valve  which  permits  the  escape  of  gas  when  the  balloon 
is  too  full,  or  3-ou  wish  to  descend  ;  the  car,  which  facil- 
itates the  management  of  the  machine  ;  the  net,  which 
contains  the  outer  covering  of  the  balloon,  and  dis- 
tributes the  j)ressure  equally- ;  the  ballast,  which  aids  in 
rising,  and  in  maldng  land ;  the  gutta-percha  coating, 
which  makes  the  tissue  imper\ious  ;  and  the  barometer, 
which  indicates  the  height  attained.  Finally,  Charles 
employed  hydrogen,  which,  fourteen  times  lighter  than 
ah',  permits  one  to  penetrate  the  highest  atmospheric 
strata,  without  exposing  himself  to  the  dangers  of 
aerial  combustion.  Dec.  1,1 783 ,  three  hundred  thousand 
spectators  thronged  about  theTuileries.  Charles  rose ; 
and  the  troops  presented  ai-ms  to  him.     He  traversed 


A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR.  17 

nine  leagues,  guiding  his  balloon  in  a  way  never  sur- 
passed by  a  professional  balloonist.  The  king  gi^anted 
him  a  pension  of  two  thousand  livres  ;  for  in  those  days 
new  inventions  were  encouraged." 

The  stranger  seemed  agitated  and  excited. 

"  I  sir,"  he  went  on,  "  have  studied  ;  and  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  early  aeronauts  could  steer  their  balloons 
at  will.  To  say  nothing  of  Blanchard,  whose  assertions 
may  be  doubtful,  Guyton  Morveaux,  with  oars  and  rud- 
der, gave  his  machine  visible  motion  in  a  marked  direc- 
tion. Recently',  at  Paris,  a  watchmaker,  M.  Julien,  has 
made  convincing  trials  at  the  Hippodrome  ;  for,  thanks 
to  a  peculiar  mechanism,  his  aerial  apparatus,  of  oblong 
shape,  went  directly  against  the  wind.  M.  Petin  united 
four  hydrogen  balloons,  and  hopes,  by  means  of  hori- 
zontal sails  partially  folded,  to  obtain  a  rupture  of 
equilibrium,  which,  bending  the  machine,  will  force  it 
to  take  an  oblique  course.  People  talk  of  motors  meant 
to  overcome  the  resistance  of  the  currents  of  air ;  for 
example,  a  screw  ;  but  the  screw  moving  in  an  active 
medium  would  produce  no  result.  I,  sir,  I  have  dis- 
covered the  only  way  to  steer  a  balloon ;  and  not  a 
scientific  body  has  come  to  my  aid,  not  a  town  has  filled 
up  my  subscription -list,  not  a  government  has  listened 
to  me.     It  is  infamous ! " 

The  stranger  gesticulated  violently,  and  the  car  swayed 
wildly  to  and  fro.     I  could  with  difficulty  quiet  him. 

The  balloon  now  came  into  a  swifter  current ;  and  we 
2*- 


18  A  DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

advanced   southwards,  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the 
ground. 

"  There's  Darmstadt !  "  said  my  companion,  leaning 
over  the  edge  of  the  car.  "  Do  you  see  the  castle  ?  Not 
ver}^  distinct,  is  it?  Wliat  can  j-ou  ex^ject?  This  heat 
makes  things  swim  before  us  ;  and  it  takes  a  well- 
trained  e3'e  to  recognize  a  place." 

"  You  are  sure  that  that  is  Darmstadt?"  I  asked. 

' '  Perfectly  ;  and  we  are  six  leagues  away  from  Frank- 
fort." 

"  Then  we  must  descend." 

"Descend?  You  wouldn't  descend  on  the  house- 
tops, would  3'ou?"  sneered  the  stranger. 

"  No,  but  in  the  environs." 

"  Well.  Let's  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  house- 
tops ! " 

So  saj-ing,  my  comrade  seized  the  sand-bags.  I  threw 
myself  upon  him  ;  but  with  one  hand  he  threw  me  to  the 
floor,  and  the  lightened  balloon  reached  the  height  of 
two  thousand  feet. 

"  Be  calm,"  said  he,  "  and  remember  that  Brioschi, 
Biot,  Gay  Lussac,  Bixio,  and  Barral  reached  far  greater 
heights  in  the  cause  of  science." 

"  Sir,  we  must  descend,"  I  replied,  trj-ing  to  win  him 
by  gentleness.  "  The  storm  is  gathering  round  us.  It 
would  not  be  prudent "  — 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  We  will  rise  above  it,  and  no  longer 
fear  it,"  cried  my  companion.    ' '  What  could  be  grander 


"With  one  hand  lie  thiew  me  to  the  floor,  and  the  lishtencd 
balloon  reached  the  height  of  two  thousand  feet."  I'ago  IS. 


A   DRAMA   IN   MID- AIR.  19 

than  to  float  above  the  clouds  that  are  bruising  the 
earth  !  Is  it  not  an  honor  thus  to  navigate  aerial  s.eas  ? 
The  most  aristocratic  people  have  travelled  as  we  are 
travelling.  The  Marchioness  and  Countess  of  Monta- 
lembert,  Countess  de  Podenas,  Mademoiselle  la  Garde, 
and  the  Marquis  de  Montalembert,  started  from  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Antoine  for  these  unknown  shores  ;  and  the 
DulvC  de  Chartres  displaj'ed  gi-eat  address  and  presence 
of  mind  in  his  ascent  of  July  15,  1784.  At  L3'ons, 
Counts  de  Laurencin  and  de  Dampierre  ;  at  Nancy,  M. 
de  LujTies  ;  at  Bordeaux,  D'Arbalet  des  Granges  ;  in 
Italy,  Chevalier  Andreani ;  and  in  our  own  da3-s  the 
Duke  of  Brunswick,  —  have  left  the  traces  of  theii'  glory 
in  the  air.  To  equal  these  great  personages,  we  must 
penetrate  even  higher  into  the  celestial  depths  than  they. 
To  approach  the  infinite  is  to  understand  it." 

The  rarefaction  of  the  air  considerablj^  dilated  the 
hydrogen  in  the  balloon  ;  and  I  saw  the  lower  part,  left 
open  puiposely,  swell  so  much  as  to  necessitate  the 
opening  of  the  valve ;  but  my  companion  seemed  un- 
willing to  let  me  manage  it  as  I  wished.  I  therefore 
resolved  to  draw  the  valve-cord  secretly,  while  he 
talked  with  great  animation ;  for  I  feared  to  guess  with 
whom  I  had  to  deal.  It  would  have  been  too  temble. 
It  was  nearly  quarter  of  one.  We  left  Franldbrt  forty 
minutes  since  ;  and  thick  clouds  were  scudding  towards 
us  from  the  south,  straight  against  th^  wind. 

"Have  3'ou  lost  all  hope  of  seeing  your  invention 


20  A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

triumph  ? "  I  asked  him  with  verj'  interested  in- 
terest. 

"  All  hope,"  replied  the  stranger  sullenly.  ""Wound- 
ed by  rebuffs,  caricature,  that  ass's  kick,  has  killed  me. 
It  is  an  ever  fresh  torture  reserved  for  innovators.  See 
these  caricatures  of  all  ages,  which  fill  my  portfolio  !  " 

While  my  companion  was  turning  over  his  papers, 
I  seized  the  valve-cord,  without  attracting  his  atten- 
tion. I  feared,  however,  lest  he  should  notice  the 
whistling  sound  made  by  the  escaping  gas. 

"  How  many  jests  at  Abbe  Miolan  !  "  said  he.  "  He 
was  to  go  up  with  Janninet  and  Bredin.  While  they 
were  preparing,  the  Mongolfiere  took  fire,  and  the  ig- 
norant rabble  tore  it  to  tatters.  Then  this  caricature 
of  curious  animals  called  them  Miaulant^*  Jean 
Minet,*  and  Gredin"-\ 

I  pulled  the  valve-cord,  and  the  barometer  began  to 
rise.  It  was  time.  Distant  thunder  was  heard  in  the 
south. 

"  See  this  other  picture,"  resumed  the  stranger, 
without  suspecting  my  manoeuvre.  '"  It  is  an  immense 
balloon,  uniting  in  itself  a  ship,  a  fortress,  a  house,  &c. 
Caricaturists  scarcely  think  their  nonsense  will  one  day 
become  true.  This  great  vessel  is  complete ;  on  the 
left,  the  helm  and  the  pilot's  house  ;  at  the  prow,  pleas- 
ure-houses, a  vast  portcullis,  and  cannon  to  attract 
the   attention  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  or   the 

*  Equivalent  to  puss.  f  Bow-wow. 


A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR.  21 

moon ;  at  the  stern,  the  observatory  and  balloon 
launch  ;  in  the  middle,  the  soldiers'  quarters ;  to  the 
left,  the  ship's  light ;  then  upper  galleries  for  walking  ; 
the  sails  and  pinions  ;  above  all,  the  cafes  and  general 
provision  shops.  Admire  this  magnificent  announce- 
ment :  '  Invented  for  the  good  of  humanity.  This 
sphere  starts  immediately' for  the  Levant ;  on  its  return, 
will  leave  for  the  two  poles  and  the  farthest  ends  of  the 
earth.  Passengers  need  have  no  fears.  Ever}^  precau- 
tion will  be  taken,  the  trip  will  be  successful.  There 
will  be  an  exact  tariff  of  prices  ;  but  the  rate  will  be 
alike  for  the  nearest  or  most  remote  point ;  that  is  to 
say,  a  thousand  louis  for  any  of  these  excursions. 
And  we  may  say  that  the  sum  is  very  moderate,  when 
we  consider  the  sjDeed,  the  convenience,  and  the  pleas- 
ure to  be  enjoyed  in  this  balloon,  —  pleasures  not  to  be 
found  below,  for  eveiy  one  will  find  all  he  has  ever  im- 
agined. This  is  so  true,  that  in  the  same  spot  some 
will  be  dancing,  and  others  at  rest ;  some  will  be  feast- 
ing, others  fasting ;  the  wise  will  find  sages  to  con- 
verse with  ;  the  fools  will  find  fools.  So  pleasure  will 
be  the  soul  of  aerial  society.'  All  this  made  people 
laugh.  But  very  shortly,  if  m}-  days  were  not  num- 
bered, they  should  see  that  these  airy  projects  were 
realities." 

We  were  descending  ^isibly.     He  did  not  notice  it. 

"  Then  see  this  sort  of  balloon-game,"  he  went  on, 
showing  me  several  of  the  engravings  from  his  large 


22  A  DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

collection.  "This  game  contains  the  whole  historj' 
of  aerostatics.  It  is  for  the  use  of  lofty  spirits,  and 
is  played  with  dice  and  counters  of  a  fixed  value,  to  be 
won  or  lost,  as  the  case  may  be." 

"  But,"  I  replied,  "  you  seem  to  have  made  a  pro- 
found study  of  the  science  of  aerostatics." 

"Yes,  sir;  yes.  From  Phaeton,  from  Icarus,  from 
Architas,  down,  I  have  searched,  examined,  and 
studied  them  all.  Through  me,  aerostatic  art  would 
render  great  services  to  the  world,  if  God  granted  me 
life.     But  it  is  not  to  be." 

"Why?" 

"Because  my  name  is  Empedocles  or  Erostratus." 

Fortunately  the  balloon  was  still  descending ;  but, 
when  you  are  to  fall,  the  danger  is  as  great  at  a  hun- 
di'ed  feet  as  five  thousand  feet. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  battle  of  Fleurus  ?  "  resumed 
my  companion,  who  was  growing  more  and  more  ex- 
cited. "  'Twas  at  that  battle  that  Coutelle  formed  a 
company  of  balloonists,  b^^  order  from  the  govern- 
ment. At  the  siege  of  Maubeuge,  Gen.  Jourdan  so 
profited  by  this  new  style  of  observation,  that  Cou- 
telle went  up  twice  a  day  with  the  general  himself. 
Signals  passed  between  the  balloonist  and  his  men 
below,  by  means  of  small  red,  white,  and  yellow  flags. 
Rifles  and  cannon  were  often  fired  at  them  while  as- 
cending ;  but  in  vain.  When  Jourdan  prepared  to 
invest   Charleroi,  Coutelle  hastened  to  the  neighbor- 


A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR.  23 

hood,  rose  from  the  plain  of  Jumetz,  and  remained 
in  the  air  seven  or  eight  hours,  with  Gen.  Morlot^- 
which  doubtless  contributed  to  win  the  battle  of 
Fleurus  for  us.  And,  in  fact,  Gen.  Jourdan  loudly 
proclaimed  the  great  benefit  he  had  derived  from  these 
aerostatic  observations.  But  spite  of  the  services 
rendered  at  this  time,  and  throughout  the  Belgian 
campaign,  the  year  which  saw  the  dawn  of  the  mili- 
taiy  career  of  the  balloon  also  saw  its  close.  And 
the  school  at  Meudon,  founded  by  the  government, 
was  closed  by  Bonaparte  on  his  return  from  Eg}^t. 
'  And  yet,'  says  Franklin,  '  what  can  you  expect  from 
a  new-born  babe  ? '  The  child  was  born  alive  :  it  must 
not  be  strangled." 

The  stranger  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  lost  in 
thought  for  some  moments.  Then,  without  raising  his 
head,  he  said,  "In  spite  of  my  prohibition,  sir,  you 
have  opened  the  valve." 

I  dropped  the  cord. 

"Fortunately,"  he  added,  "  we  have  three  hundred 
pounds'  weight  of  ballast  left." 

"  What  are  your  plans  ?  "  said  I. 

"You  have  never  crossed  the  sea?"  he  asked. 

"  It's  a  pity,"  he  continued,  "  that  the  wind  drives  us 
towards  the  Adriatic.  It's  a  mere  brook.  But  high- 
er up  we  may  find  other  currents." 

And,  without  glancing  at  me,  he  lightened  the  bal- 
loon by  several  sand-bags.     Then,  in  a  tone  of  men- 


24  A  DRAMA  IN  MID- AIR. 

ace,  lie  said,  "I  let  you  open  the  valve,  because  the 
expanding  gas  threatened  to  burst  the  balloon.  But 
do  not  make  another  attempt."  And  he  went  on,  as 
follows :  — 

"  You  know  the  journey  from  Dover  to  Calais,  made 
by  Blanchard  and  Jefferies?  It  was  superb.  The 
7th  of  January,  1785,  with  a  north-west  wind,  their 
balloon  was  filled  with  gas  on  the  Dover  side.  They 
had  hardly  risen,  when  a  mistake  in  the  poise  forced 
them  to  throw  out  their  ballast,  lest  they  should  fall, 
retaining  only  thirty  pounds.  It  was  too  little ;  for, 
the  wind  growing  no  fresher,  they  advanced,  but  \evy 
slowly,  towards  the  French  coast.  Besides,  theii*  tissue 
being  permeable,  the  balloon  began  to  contract ;  and 
at  the  end  of  an  hour  and  a  half  the  travellers  per- 
ceived that  they  were  descending. 

"  '  What  shall  we  do?'  said  Jeflferies. 

"  '  We  are  onl}^  three-quarters  of  the  way  across,' 
said  Blanchard,  '  and  at  a  slight  elevation.  Bj'  ris- 
ing, we  may  encounter  more  favorable  winds.' 

"  '  Let  us  throw  out  the  rest  of  the  sand.' 

"  The  balloon  gained  slightly  in  ascensional  power, 
and  soon  fell  again.  The  aeronauts  then  threw  out 
their  books  and  instruments.  Quarter  of  an  hour 
later,  Blanchard  said  to  Jefferies,  — 

"'The  barometer?' 

"  '  Is  rising.  We  are  lost,  and  with  the  French  coast 
in  sight ! ' 


A  DRAMA  IN  MID-AIR.  25 

"  A  loud  noise  was  heard. 

"  '  The  balloon  is  torn  ! '  said  Jefferies. 

' ' '  No :  the  loss  of  gas  has  swollen  the  lower  part  of 
the  balloon.  But  we  are  still  falling.  "We  are  lost ! 
Overboard  with  every  thing  ! ' 

"  Theu'  pro"vasions,  theii'  oars,  and  rudder,  were  cast 
into  the  sea.  They  were  not  more  than  a  hundred  feet 
above  the  surface. 

"  '  "We  are  rising,'  said  the  doctor. 

"'No:  it  is  the  rebound  caused  by  the  lessened 
weight ;  and  not  a  ship  in  sight,  not  a  sail  on  the 
horizon  !     Into  the  sea  with  our  clothes  ! ' 

"The  unhapp}' men  stripped;  but  the  balloon  still 
fell. 

"  '  Blanchard,'  said  Jefferies,  '  you  shall  cross  alone  : 
you  were  persuaded  to  take  me.  I  will  sacrifice  my- 
self. I  will  throw  myself  into  the  water,  and  the 
appeased  balloon  will  rise.' 

"  '  No,  no  !     How  fearful ! ' 

"  The  balloon  contracted  more  and  more  ;  and  its  con- 
cavity, parachute-like,  pressed  the  gas  against  the 
walls,  and  forced  it  out. 

"  '  Farewell,  my  friend  ! '  said  the  doctor.  '  Heaven 
preserve  you ! ' 

"  He  was  about  to  fling  himself  over,  when  Blanchard 
held  him  back. 

' '  '  There  is  still  one  resource,'  he  said :  '  we  can 
cut  the  ropes  that  hold  the  car,  and  cling  to  the  net. 
3 


26  A  DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

Perhaps  the  balloon  may  rise.  Let  us  prepare.  But 
stay  —  the  barometer  falls ;  we  rise ;  the  wind  in- 
creases !     We  are  saved  ! ' 

"  The  travellers  were  now  in  sight  of  Calais.  Their 
jo}'  knew  no  bounds.  A  few  moments  later  they 
descended  in  the  forest  of  Guines. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  added  the  stranger,  "  that,  under 
similar  circumstances,  you  would  foUow  the  example  of 
Dr.  Jefferies." 

The  clouds  rolled  below  us  in  glaring  masses.  The 
balloon  threw  great  patches  of  shade  upon  the  dark 
storm-caps,  and  seemed  wrapped  in  an  aureole.  The 
thunder  roared  beneath  the  car.     It  was  frightful. 

"  Let  us  descend  !  "  I  cried. 

"Descend,  when  the  sun  is  waiting  for  us  above! 
Down  with  the  sand-bags  !  " 

And  the  weight  of  the  balloon  was  lessened  bj^  more 
than  fifty  pounds. 

At  the  height  of  thi-ee  thousand  five  hundred  feet  we 
remained  stationary.  The  stranger  talked  incessantly. 
I  was  completely  prostrated,  while  he  seemed  to  be  in 
his  element. 

"With  a  good  wind  we  may  go  far,"  he  cried. 
"  In  the  Antilles,  there  are  currents  of  air  which  travel 
at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  leagues  an  hour.  At  the 
coronation  of  Napoleon,  Garnerin  let  loose  a  balloon 
illuminated  with  colored  lights,  at  eleven  in  the  even- 
ing.    The  wind  was  north-north-east.     The  next  day, 


A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR.  27 

at  dawn,  the  inhabitants  of  Eome  saluted  it  as  it  passed 
over  St.  Peter's  dome.  We  must  go  farther  and 
higher." 

I  could  scarcely  hear.  Every  thing  swam  before  me. 
There  was  an  opening  in  the  clouds. 

"You  see  that  city,"  said  the  stranger.  "It  is 
Spires ! " 

I  leaned  over  the  car,  and  saw  a  small  black  spot. 
That  was  Spires.  The  broad  Rhine,  like  a  ribbon, 
unrolled  before  us.  Above  our  heads  the  sky  was 
deep  blue.  The  birds  had  long  since  left  us  ;  for  here 
the  rarity  of  the  air  was  such  that  they  could  not  have 
flown  an  inch.  We  were  alone  in  space  :  I  was  alone 
with  the  stranger. 

"  It  is  useless  for  me  to  tell  you  where  I  design  taking 
you,"  said  he,  throwing  over  the  compass.  "  Ah, 
what  a  fine  thing  a  fall  is  !  You  know  but  few  have 
fallen  victims  to  aerostation,  fj'om  Pilatre  des  Rosiers 
to  Lieut.  Gale ;  and  such  mishaps  are  always  due  to 
carelessness.  Pilatre  des  Rosiers  left  Boulogne  with 
Romain,  June  13,  1785.  He  suspended  to  his  gas 
balloon  a  hot-ak  Mongolfiere,  doubtless  to  ob^date  the 
necessity  of  losing  gas,  or  throwing  out  ballast.  It  was 
like  putting  a  foot-stove  under  a  powder-magazine. 
The  imprudent  pah'  reached  the  height  of  four  hundi-ed 
feet,  and  were  seized  by  contrary  winds,  which  carried 
them  to  the  open  sea.  Pilatre  tried  to  descend  by 
opening  the  safety-valve ;  but  the  cord  was  tangled  in 


28  A  DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

tlie  balloon,  and  tore  it  so  badly,  that  it  was  empty  in  an 
instant.  It  fell  upon  the  Mongolfiere,  whirled  it  away, 
dragging  with  it  the  wretched  couple,  who  were  dashed 
to  pieces  in  a  few  moments.     Terrible,  wasn't  it?" 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  let  us  descend !  " 

The  clouds  thickened  round  us  ;  and  frightful  peals 
of  thunder,  echoed  back  by  the  balloon,  roai'cd  about 
us. 

"  You  annoy  me,"  cried  the  stranger,  "  and  in  fu- 
ture you  shall  not  know  whether  we  are  rising  or  fall- 
ing." 

And  the  barometer  joined  the  compass  with  a  few 
more  sand-bags.  We  must  have  been  five  thousand 
feet  above  the  earth.  A  few  icicles  alread}'  hung  to 
the  sides  of  the  car,  and  a  sort  of  fine  snow  chilled  me 
to  the  bone.  Meanwhile  a  frightful  storm  raged  at  our 
feet,  though  we  were  high  above  its  reach. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  said  the  stranger.  "Only 
imprudent  people  meet  with  accidents.  Olivari,  who 
perished  at  Orleans,  went  up  in  a  paper  Mongolfiere. 
His  car  hung  below  the  furnace,  and,  ballasted  with 
combustible  matter,  fell  a  prey  to  the  flames :  Olivari 
fell,  and  was  killed.  Bittorf,  at  Mannheim,  saw  his 
paper  balloon  take  fire  in  mid-air  :  Bittorf  fell,  and  was 
killed.  Mosment  went  up  at  LiUe,  on  a  slight  plat- 
form ;  a  shock  made  him  lose  his  balance :  Mosment 
fell,  and  was  killed.  Harris  went  up  in  an  ill-built  bal- 
loon, whose  valve  was  too  big  to  be  shut :  HaiTis  fell, 


A   DRAMA   IN   MID-AIR.  29 

and  was  killed.  Sadler  staid  up  so  long,  that  his  bal- 
last was  exhausted ;  he  was  dragged  over  the  city  of 
Boston,  and  dashed  against  the  chimneys  :  Sadler  fell, 
and  was  killed.  Coking  descended  with  a  parachute 
he  thought  perfect:  Coking  fell,  and  was  killed.  I 
adore  these  victims  of  imprudence ;  and  I  will  die  as 
they  did.     Higher !  higher !  " 

Ever}'  ghost  of  this  fatal  list  passed  before  me.  The 
rarefaction  of  the  air  increased  the  expansion  of  the 
gas,  and  the  balloon  still  rose.  I  made  an  involuntary 
effort  to  open  the  valve  ;  and  the  stranger  cut  the  cord 
some  feet  above  my  head.     I  was  lost. 

' '  Did  3'ou  see  Madame  Blanchard  fall  ?  "  said  he.  "I 
saw  her,  I  did  !  Yes,  I  did  !  I  was  at  Tivoli  July  6, 
1819.  Madame  Blanchard  went  up  in  a  small  balloon  to 
save  expense  in  filling  it ;  and  she  was  obliged  to  fill  it 
to  the  utmost  extent,  so  that  the  gas  escaped  from  be- 
low, leaving  a  perfect  trail  of  hydrogen  as  it  passed. 
She  had  with  her,  suspended  from  the  car  by  a  wire, 
some  fireworks,  which  she  was  to  let  off.  She  had  often 
performed  the  feat.  On  this  occasion  she  also  carried 
a  small  parachute  weighted  by  a  firework,  which  was  to 
fall  in  silver  rain.  She  was  to  drop  this  after  lighting 
it  with  a  torch  prepared  ex^jressly.  She  started.  The 
night  was  dark.  Just  as  she  lighted  the  fii-eworks,  she 
carelessly  passed  her  torch  thi'ough  the  column  of  hy- 
drogen which  hung  about  the  balloon.  My  eyes  were 
riveted  upon  her.  All  at  once  a  strange  flash  illumined 
3* 


30  A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

the  darkness.  I  thought  it  was  some  surprise  gi-sen 
b}'  the  skilful  balloonist.  The  flame  increased,  disap- 
peared suddenl}',  and  re-appeared  above  the  balloon  in 
the  shape  of  an  immense  jet  of  burning  gas.  The 
fatal  glare  made  the  boulevard  and  the  whole  Quartier 
Montmartre  as  light  as  day.  Then  I  saw  the  wretch 
rise,  twice  try  to  close  the  valve,  and  put  out  the  fire, 
then  seat  herself  in  the  car,  and  trj-  to  guide  it  in  its  de- 
scent ;  for  she  did  not  fall.  The  gas  burnt  on  for  some 
moments.  The  balloon,  shrinking  fast,  descended  ;  but 
it  was  not  a  fall.  The  wind  blew  from  the  north-west,  and 
bore  her  towards  Paris.  The  house,  number  16,  Rue  de 
Provence,  at  that  time  had  verj-  large  gardens.  There 
she  might  fall  without  danger.  But  destiny  willed  it 
otherwise.  The  balloon  and  car  fell  upon  the  roof  of 
the  house.  The  shock  was  slight.  '  Help  ! '  cried  the 
unfortunate  woman.  I  reached  the  street  at  that  mo-' 
ment.  The  car  slipped  from  the  roof,  and  struck  an 
iron  bar.  By  this  shock  Madame  Blanchard  was  thrown 
from  her  car,  and  dashed  upon  the  sidewalk.  Madame 
Blanchard  was  killed." 

These  stories  froze  my  blood  with  horror.  The 
stranger  stood  erect,  bare-headed,  with  dishevelled  hair 
and  haggard  eyes. 

I  could  no  longer  deceive  myself.  At  last  I  saw  the 
horrid  truth.     I  was  alone  with  a  madman ! 

He  threw  out  the  rest  of  the  ballast,  and  we  must 
have  been  carried  up  to  the  height  of  at  least  nine  thou- 


A   DRAMA   IN  MID- AIR.  31 

sand  feet.  The  blood  gushed  from  my  mouth  and 
nose. 

"  What  can  be  more  glorious  than  to  die  a  martjT 
to  science?"  cried  the  maniac.  "  They  are  canonized 
by  posterity." 

But  I  heard  no  more.  The  madman  gazed  around, 
knelt,  and  whispered  in  mj'  ear,  — 

"  And  Zambecarri's  fate,  have  you  forgotten  that? 
Listen !  Oct.  7,  1804,  the  weather  seemed  to  clear 
slightly.  For  several  days  the  wind  and  rain  had  not 
ceased  ;  but  Zambecarri's  announced  ascent  could  not 
be  postponed.  His  enemies  were  jeering  at  him  al- 
ready. He  must  go  to  save  science  and  himself  from 
public  scorn.  It  was  at  Bologna.  No  one  aided  him 
in  filling  his  balloon. 

"  At  midnight  he  started,  accompanied  by  Andreoli 
and  Grossetti.  The  balloon  rose  slowly ;  for  the  rain 
had  penetrated  it,  and  the  gas  was  escaping.  The 
three  bold  voyagers  could  only  observe  the  state  of  the 
barometer  by  the  light  of  a  dark-lantern.  Zambecarri 
had  eaten  nothing  for  twentj^-four  hours.  Grossetti 
was  also  fasting. 

"  '  My  friends,'  said  Zambecarri,  '  I  am  freezing ;  I 
am  exhausted  ;  I  am  d3dng.' 

' '  He  fell  lifeless  to  the  bottom  of  the  car :  so  did 
Grossetti.  Andreoli  alone  remained  conscious.  After 
repeated  efforts,  he  succeeded  in  rousing  Zambecarri 
from  his  stupor. 


32  A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

"'What  lias  happened?  Where  are  we  going? 
Which  way  is  the  wind?     What  time  is  it ? ' 

"  '  It  is  two  o'clock.' 

"  '  Where  is  the  compass?* 

'"Out  of  order.' 

"  '  Great  Heavens  !     The  lantern  has  gone  out.' 

"  '  It  cannot  burn  in  this  rarefied  air,'  said  Zambe- 
carri. 

"  The  moon  had  not  risen,  and  the  atmosphere  was 
filled  with  horrid  darkness. 

"  'I  am  cold,  I  am  cold,  Andreoli !  What  shall 
we  do  ? ' 

"  The  unhappy  men  descended  slowly  through  a  bed 
of  whitish  clouds. 

"  '  Hush  ! '  said  Andreoli.     '  Do  3'ou  hear?' 

"  '  What?'  answered  Zambecarri. 

"  '  A  strange  noise.' 

"  '  You  are  wrong.' 

"'No!' 

"  Can  you  imagine  these  travellers  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  listening  to  this  strange  sound  ?  Are  they  to  be 
dashed  against  a  rock  ?  Are  they  to  be  beaten  against 
the  house-tops  ? 

"  '  Do  you  hear?  I  should  call  it  the  noise  of  the 
sea.' 

'"Impossible! ' 

"  '  It  is  the  roar  of  waves.' 

"  'Too  true.' 


A  DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR.  33 

"  '  Light,  light ! '     . 

"  After  five  vain  attempts,  Andreoli  obtained  one.  It 
was  three  o'clock.  The  noise  of  the  waves  grew  more 
violent.     They  almost  touched  the  smface  of  the  sea. 

"  '  We  are  lost ! '  cried  Zambecarri ;  and  he  seized  a 
large  bag  of  ballast. 

"  '  Help  ! '  cried  Andreoli. 

' '  The  car  touched  the  water,  and  the  waves  covered 
them  to  the  breast. 

" '  Into  the  sea  with  instruments,  clothes,  and 
money ! ' 

"  The  aeronauts  stripped  to  the  skin.  The  lightened 
balloon  rose  with  frightful  rapidity.  Zambecarri  was 
seized  with  a  fit  of  vomiting.  Grossetti  bled  copiously. 
The  unhappj'  men  could  not  speak,  theii*  breath  was  so 
short.  They  were  shivering  with  cold ;  and  in  an 
instant  they  were  covered  with  a  coating  of  ice.  The 
moon  seemed  red  as  blood  to  them. 

"  After  having  traversed  these  upper  regions  for  half 
an  hour,  the  machine  fell  back  into  the  sea.  It  was 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  shipwrecked  men 
were  half  immersed  in  water ;  and  the  balloon,  sail- like, 
dragged  them  for  hours. 

"  At  day-dawn  they  found  themselves  near  Pes.iro, 
four  miles  from  the  coast.  They  were  about  to  land, 
when  a  breeze  carried  them  out  to  sea. 

"  They  were  lost.  Terrified  sloops  fled  at  their 
approach.      Fortunately  a   better-taught    sailor  drew 


34  A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

near,  took  them  on  board,  and  they  were  landed  ut 
Ferrada. 

"A  fearful  voj-age,  wasn't  it?  But  Zambecarri 
was  a  brave  and  energetic  man.  Hardly  recovered 
from  his  sufferings,  he  recommenced  his  ascents. 
During  "one  of  them,  he  struck  against  a  tree;  his 
spirit-lamp  was  upset  upon  his  clothes  ;  he  was  covered 
with  flames  ;  and  his  machine  was  beginning  to  burn, 
when  he  reached  the  ground  half  roasted  alive. 

"Finally,  the  21st  of  September,  1812,  he  made 
another  ascent  at  Bologna.  His  balloon  caught  in  a 
tree,  and  his  lamp  again  set  fire  to  it.  Zambecarri 
fell,  and  was  kiUed. 

"  And,  in  presence  of  these  facts,  shall  we  hesitate? 
No !  The  higher  we  go,  the  more  glorious  will  be  our 
death." 

Everj'  thing  possible  thrown  over,  we  were  carried  to 
inappreciable  heights.  The  balloon  swayed  to  and 
fi'O.  The  least  noise  was  echoed  through  the  celestial 
vaults.  Our  globe,  the  only  object  which  struck  my 
eye  throughout  immensity,  seemed  about  to  be 
crushed ;  and  beneath  us  the  starry  sky  was  lost  in 
vast  shadow. 

I  saw  the  stranger  rise  before  me. 

"  The  hour  is  at  hand,"  he  said.  "  "We  must  die  ; 
we  are  rejected  of  men ;  they  despise  us.  Let  us 
destro}'  them ! " 

"  Mercy  !  "  I  implored. 


A   DRAMA   IN  MID- AIR  35 

"  Cut  those  cords.  Let  us  set  this  car  loose  in  space. 
The  force  of  attraction  will  change  its  direction,  and 
we  shall  land  in  the  sun." 

Despair  gave  me  strength.  I  threw  m3'self  upon  the 
madman;  we  locked  arms,  and  a  fearful  struggle  en- 
sued ;  but  I  was  thrown  down,  and,  holding  me  with 
one  knee,  the  madman  cut  the  cords  which  held  the 
car. 

"  One  !  "  he  cried. 

"OGod!" 

•'Two!     Thi-ee!" 

I  made  a  superhuman  effort.  I  rose,  and  repulsed  the 
madman  violentl}'. 

The  car  fell ;  but  instinctively  I  clung  to  the  cords, 
and  hoisted  mj'self  into  the  net. 

The  madman  had  disappeared  in  space. 

The  balloon  rose  to  incommensurable  heights.  A 
horrid  crack  was  heard.  The  gas,  expanded  to  too 
high  a  point,  had  burst  its  covering.  I  closed  my  ej-es. 
A  few  moments  after,  a  damp  warmth  revived  me.  I 
was  in  the  midst  of  fierj-  clouds.  The  balloon  whiiied 
on  with  fearful,  giddy  speed.  Taken  by  the  wind,  it 
made  a  hundred  leagues  an  hour  in  its  horizontal 
course,  and  the  lightning  flashed  around  it. 

However,  my  fall  was  not  very  rapid.  When  I  again 
opened  my  eyes,  I  saw  the  green  country'.  I  was  two 
miles  away  from  the  sea  ;  and  the  whirlwind  was  hurry- 
ing me  on  towards  it,  when  a  sudden  shock  caused  me 


36  A   DRAMA   IN  MID-AIR. 

to  let  go  my  hold.  My  hands  opened,  a  rope  slid 
quickly  through  my  fingers,  and  I  was  on  the  ground. 

It  was  the  anchor  cable,  which,  sweeping  along  the 
surface,  had  caught  on  a  projecting  rock  ;  and  my  bal- 
loon, relieved  of  its  weight  for  the  last  time,  was  lost 
beyond  the  sea. 

When  I  recovered  consciousness,  I  was  in  bed  in  a 
peasant's  hut  in  Harderwick,  a  small  village  of  Gelder- 
land,  fifteen  leagues  from  Amsterdam,  on  the  shores  of 
the  Zuyder-Zee. 

A  miracle  had  saved  my  life ;  but  my  voyage  had 
been  one  series  of  imprudences,  committed  hj  a  mad- 
man, against  which  I  could  not  guard. 

May  this  terrible  tale,  while  instructing  those  who 
read,  never  serve  to  dishearten  the  explorers  of  aerial 
paths. 


^% 

O    bD 

.   bo 

6 


DE.    OX'S    HOBBY. 


HOW    USELESS    IT    IS    TO     SEEK    THE    LITTLE    TOWN    OF 
QUIQUENDONE,    EVEN   ON  THE   VERY   BEST   MAPS  ! 

TF  you  look  for  the  little  town  of  Quiquendone,  on  a 
map  of  Flanders,  ancient  or  modern,  j'ou  will  prob- 
ably be  unable  to  find  it.  Is  Quiquendone  a  buried 
city?  No.  A  city  of  the  future?  Not  much.  It 
exists  in  spite  of  the  geographies,  and  has  existed  for 
eight  or  nine  hundred  j-ears.  It  can  even  reckon  two 
thousand  three  hundred  and  ninety-three  souls,  count- 
ing one  soul  to  each  inhabitant.  It  lies  thirteen  miles 
and  a  half  to  the  north-west  of  Audenarde,  and  fifteen 
miles  and  a  quarter  to  the  south-east  of  Brussels,  in  the 
middle  of  Flanders.  The  Vaar,  a  small  tributary  of 
the  Scheldt,  passes  below  its  three  bridges,  still  covered 
with  gi'een  roofs  built  in  the  middle  ages,  like  those  at 
Tournay.  There  you  may  admire  an  old  castle,  whose 
4  37 


38  DR.    OX-S   HOBBY. 

first  stone  was  laid  in  1197,  b}-  Count  Baldwin,  future 
emperor  of  Constantinople,  and  a  guildhall  with  oriel 
windows,  battlements,  and  belfty  rising  three  hnndrod 
and  fifty-seven  feet  aboA'e  the  street.  Ever}-  hour  ma}- 
be  heard  a  chime  of  five  octaves,  —  a  veritable  aerial 
piano,  whose  fame  far  surpasses  that  of  the  celebrated 
chimes  in  Brussels.  Strangers,  if  an}-  ever  pass 
through  Quiquendone,  will  not  leave  the  quaint  town 
without  a  visit  to  the  stadtholders'  hall,  adorned  with 
a  full-length  portrait  of  William  of  Nassau,  by  Bran- 
don ;  the  roodloft  of  St.  Magloire,  a  masterpiece  of 
sixteenth-centmy  architecture ;  the  well  of  wrought 
iron,  sunk  in  the  midst  of  the  great  Place  St.  Ernuph, 
whose  rare  workmanship  is  due  to  the  artist  black- 
smith, Quentin  Matsys ;  the  tomb  raised  in  ancient 
times  to  the  memor}-  of  Mary  of  Burgundj',  daughter 
of  Charles  the  Bold,  who  now  sleeps  in  the  Church  of 
Notre  Dame  in  Bnissels,  &c.  Finally',  the  chief  man- 
ufacturing interest  of  Quiquendone  is  the  making  of 
whipped  creams  and  barley-sugar  on  a  large  scale.  It 
has  been  handed  down  from  father  to  son  for  several 
centuries  b^-  the  Van  Tricasse  family.  And  why  does 
not  Quiquendone  figure  on  the  maps  of  Flanders? 
"Was  it  forgotten  bj-  the  geographers  ?  or  was  the  omis- 
sion intentional  ?  I  cannot  say ;  but  Quiquendone 
certainl}'  exists,  with  its  narrow  streets,  fortified  walls, 
Spanish  houses,  its  hall,  and  its  burgomaster,  —  so 
much  so,  that  it  has  recently  been  the  scene  of  surpris- 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  39 

ing  phenomena,  as  extraordinary  and  incredible  as 
they  are  true,  andVhich  shall  be  faithfully  reported  in 
the  present  account. 

No  one  can  speak  or  think  ill  of  the  natives  of  "West- 
ern Flanders.  They  are  good,  steady,  sa\ing,  social, 
even-tempered,  and  hospitable  people,  perhaps  a  little 
heav}^  in  conversation  ;  but  that  is  no  reason  \f\xy  one 
of  the  most  interesting  towns  in  then*  territory  should 
not  appear  on  any  modern  map. 

The  omission  is  much  to  be  regretted.  K  history, 
or,  in  default  of  history,  ancient  chronicles,  or,  in  de- 
fault of  chi'onicles,  tradition,  made  mention  of  Quiquen- 
done  —  but  no  :  neither  atlas,  hand-book,  nor  guide,  saj' 
one  word  concerning  it.  M.  Joanne  himself,  that  per- 
sistent hunter-up  of  old  towns,  is  silent.  You  can 
imagine  how  injurious  such  obli\'ion  might  be  to  the 
commerce  and  industr}'  of  the  town.  But  we  hasten  to 
add  that  Quiquendone  has  neither  commerce  nor  in- 
dustry ;  and  that  she  does  without  them  the  best  way 
in  the  world.  Her  barley-sugar  and  whipped  creams 
are  consumed  at  home,  and  never  exported.  Nor  do 
the  Quiquendonians  need  any  aid.  Their  desires  are 
limited,  their  style  of  li\ing  modest.  They  are  calm, 
moderate,  cold,  phlegmatic  ;  in  a  word,  such  "  Dutch," 
as  j-ou  sometimes  find  between  the  Scheldt  and  the 
North  Sea. 


40  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

II. 

s 

HOW    BURGOMASTER    VAN    TRIG  AS  SE    AND      LAWYER     NI- 
KLAUSSE    CONSULTED    CONCERNING    TOWN- AFFAIRS . 

"  You  think  so? "  asked  the  burgomaster. 

"  I  think  SO,"  replied  the  lawyer,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' pause. 

"  "We  must  not  act  lightly,"  added  the  burgomaster. 

"  It's  now  ten  years  that  we  have  discussed  this  im- 
portant matter,"  answered  Lawyer  Niklausse ;  "  and  1 
must  own,  my  worthy  Van  Tricasse,  that  I  cannot  yet 
take  it  upon  myself  to  decide." 

"  I  understand  your  hesitation,"  said  the  burgomas- 
ter, after  a  good  fifteen  minutes'  reflection, — "  I  under- 
stand 3'our  hesitation,  and  I  share  in  it.  It  would  be 
wiser  not  to  decide  without  a  more  careful  examination 
of  the  question." 

"  It  is  certain,"  replied  Niklausse,  "  that  this  oflSce 
of  commissary-civil  is  perfectly  useless  in  so  peaceful 
a  town  as  Quiquendone." 

"Our  predecessor,"  said  Van  Tricasse  gravel}', — 
"  oiu-  predecessor  never  said,  never  dared  to  say,  a 
thing  was  certain.  Every  aflSrmative  is  subject  to 
disagreeable  conditions." 

The  lawyer  nodded  in  assent,  and  was  silent  for 
more  than  half  an  horn'.  After  this  lapse  of  time, 
during  which  neither  lawyer  nor  burgomaster  stirred  a 
finger,  Nildausse  asked  Van  Tricasse  if  his  predeces- 


DR.    OX'S  HOBBY.  41 

sor  —  some  twenty  j-ears  before  —  had  not  also 
thought  of  abolishing  the  office  of  commissarj'-civil, 
which  bled  the  town  of  Quiquendone  every  j'ear  of 
thii'teen  hundred  and  seventy-five  francs. 

"  Truly,"  replied  the  bmrgomaster,  raising  his  hand 
to  his  clear  brow  with  quiet  dignity,  —  "  truly  ;  but  the 
worthy  man  died  before  he  dared  decide  on  this  sub- 
ject, or  on  amy  other  administrative  measure.  He 
was  a  wise  man.     Why  am  I  not  more  like  him  ? " 

Lawyer  Niklausse  was  incapable  of  imagining  any 
contradiction  to  the  bui'gomaster's  question. 

' '  The  man  who  dies  without  ever  having  decided  a 
sftigle  question,"  quoth  Van  Tricasse  gravely,  "is 
very  near  the  perfection  of  this  world." 

So  saving,  the  burgomaster  pressed  a  muffled  bell 
which  uttered  a  sigh,  rather  than  a  sound.  Almost  in- 
stantly, light  steps  glided  gently  over  the  stairs.  A 
mouse  would  have  made  more  noise  in  trotting  over  a 
velvet  caipet.  The  door  turned  on  its  well-oiled 
hinges :  a  fair-haired  giii  with  long  braids  entered. 
It  was  Suzel  Van  Tricasse,  the  burgomaster's  only 
daughter.  She  gave  her  father  his  well-filled  pipe, 
and  a  small  copper  brazier,  without  a  word,  and  disap- 
peared as  silently  as  she  had  entered. 

The  honorable  burgomaster  lighted  his  vast  bowl, 
and  was  soon  lost  in  a  blue  cloud  of  smoke,  leaving 
Lawyer  Niklausse  deep  in  thought. 

The  room  in  which  these  two  worthy  men,  charged 

4* 


42  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

with  the  affairs  of  Quiquendone,  were  talking  thus,  was 
a  parlor  richly  ornamented  with  carvings  in  dark  wood. 
A  high  chimue^'-piece,  an  immense  hearth,  on  which  one 
could  have  burnt  an  oak  or  roasted  an  ox,  filled  up  one 
hide  of  the  room ;  and  opposite  it  was  a  lattice- win- 
dow, through  whose  painted  panes  the  sunbeams  sifted 
softlj'.  In  an  ancient  frame  over  the  fire  hung  the 
portrait  of  some  good  fellow,  attributed  to  Hemling, 
probabl}'  an  ancestor  of  the  Van  Tricasses,  who  could 
trace  their  famil}'  back  to  the  fourteenth  centur}-,  when 
the  Dutch  and  Guy  de  Dampierre  wei'e  fighting  against 
the  Emperor  Rudolph  of  Hapsburg. 

This  parlor  was  part  of  the  bm-gomaster's  house,  one 
of  the  most  pleasant  in  Quiquendone.  Built  in  Dutch 
taste,  and  with  all  the  qUaintness,  caprice,  and  pictur- 
esqueness  of  the  pointed  stjde  of  architecture,  it  was 
considered  one  of  the  most  curious  relics  of  antiquity 
in  the  city.  A  Chartreuse  convent,  or  a  school  for  deaf- 
mutes,  could  not  have  been  more  silent  than  this  estab- 
lishment. Noise  had  no  existence  there :  no  one 
walked,  he  glided  ;  no  one  spoke,  he  murmured.  And 
3-et  there  were  women  in  the  house  ;  for,  not  counting 
the  burgomaster,  it  held  his  wife,  Madame  Brigitta  Van 
Tricasse,  his  daughter,  Suzel  Van  Ti"icasse,  and  his 
servant-maid,  Lcftche  Janshen.  We  must  also  mention 
the  burgomaster's  sister,  Aunt  Hermance,  a  spinster 
still  answering  to  the  name  of  Aunty  Nemance,  given 
her  by  her  niece  Suzel,  when  a  child.     But  spite  of  all 


DR.    OX'S  HOBBY.  43 

these  noisy,  gossiping,  discordant  elements,  the  burgo- 
master's house  was  silent  as  the  desert. 

The  burgomaster  was  a  man  of  fifty  years,  neither 
stout  uor  thin,  neither  tall  nor  short,  neither  old  nor 
young,  neither  florid  nor  pale,  neither  gay  nor  sod, 
neither  contented  nor  forlorn,  neither  active  nor  lazy, 
neither  proud  nor  humble,  neither  good  nor  bad. 
neithM"  generous  nor  avaricious,  neither  brave  nor 
cowardly,  neither  too  much  nor  too  little,  ne  quid 
nimis,  a  man  moderate  in  all  things  ;  but  b}*  the  in- 
vai'iable  sloth  of  his  movements,  by  his  hanging  lower 
lip,  stifBy-lifted  upper  lid,  his  forehead  smooth  as  a 
copper  plate,  and  his  slightly  prominent  muscles,  a 
physiognomist  would  easily  have  recognized  iu  Van 
Tricasse,  phlegm  personified.  ■  Never  had  rage  or  anj- 
passion,  never  had  any  emotion,  quickened  the  beat- 
ing of  this  man's  heart,  or  caused  his  face  to  flush ; 
never  had  his  pupils  contracted  under  the  influence  of 
an}'  irritation,  howsoever  fleeting.  He  was  invariablj' 
clad  iu  good  clothes,  neither  too  large  nor  too  small, 
which  never  seemed  to  wear  shabb}-.  On  his  feet  were 
large  square-toed  shoes,  with  triple  soles  and  silver 
buckles,  which  wore  so  well  as  to  drive  his  shoemaker 
frantic.  On  his  head  was  a  large  hat,  of  a  style  dating 
from  the  separation  of  Flanders  and  Holland,  which 
made  the  venerable  headpiece  forty  years  old.  But 
what  would  3-ou  have?  Passion  wears  out  the  body  as 
n-ell  as  the  soul,  the  clothes  as  well  as  the  body :  and 


44  DR.    OX'S  BOBBT. 

our  worthy  burgomaster,  apathetic,  indolent,  and  in- 
different, was  impassioned  in  nothing.  He  did  not 
work,  and  did  not  rust ;  for  which  very  reason  he 
proved  himself  the  fitting  man  to  administer  justice  to 
the  city  of  Quiquendone  and  its  tranquil  citizens. 

Nor  was  the  burgomaster's  house  more  silent  than 
the  city  itself.  In  this  peaceful  home  the  burgomaster 
hoped  to  reach  the  most  distant  limits  of  human  ex- 
istence, after  seeing  good  Madame  Brigitta  Van  Tri- 
casse  his  wife,  laid  snugly  away  in  the  grave,  where 
she  could  never  find  profounder  rest  than  she  had  en- 
joyed on  earth  for  sixty  years. 

This  deserves  an  explanation. 

The  Van  Tricasse  family  might  rightfully  be  called 
the  Jeannot  family.     For  this  reason  :  — 

Every  one  knows  that  this  tj^Dical  being's  knife  is  as 
famous  as  its  owner,  and  no  less  durable,  thanks  to 
that  incessantl3'-renewed  and  double  operation,  consist- 
ing of  replacing  the  handle  when  worn  out,  and  the 
blade  when  good  for  nothing.  Such  was  the  identical 
operation  practised  for  time  immemorial  in  the  Van 
Tricasse  family,  to  which  Nature  had  lent  her  aid  with 
rather  strange  complacency.  Since  1340,  a  widowed 
Van  Tricasse  had  married  another  of  the  name,  younger 
than  he,  who,  in  her  turn  a  widow,  consoled  herself 
with  a  junior  Van  Tricasse,  who,  left  a  widower,  did 
the  same  ;  and  so  on,  without  end  of  continuity.  Each 
one  died  in   turn  with  mechanical  regularit}-.      Now. 


DR.    OX'S  HOBBY.  45 

worthy  Madame  Brigitta  Van  Tricasse  was  at  present 
enjoying  her  second  husband,  and,  unless  she  failed  in 
all  her  duty,  must  precede  her  husband  (ten  years  her 
junior)  into  another  world,  making  place  for  a  new 
Madame  Van  Tricasse  ;  on  which  the  honorable  burgo- 
master fully  reckoned,  that  the  family  tradition  might 
not  be  broken. 

Such  was  this  peaceful  and  silent  house,  whose  doors 
never  creaked,  whose  windows  never  rattled,  whose 
floors  never  cracked,  whose  chimneys  never  roared, 
whose  vanes  never  squeaked,  whose  furniture  never 
creaked,  whose  locks  never  clacked,  and  whose  guests 
made  no  more  noise  than  ghosts.  The  God  Harpo- 
crates  had  certainly  chosen  it  as  his  temple  of  silence. 


HI. 


HOW  COMMISSARY    PASSAUF    MADE    AN    ENTRY  AS    NOISY 
AS   IT   WAS   UNEXPECTED. 

It  was  quarter  of  three  when  the  interesting  con- 
versation above  recorded  began  between  the  law3-er 
and  the  burgomaster ;  it  was  quarter  of  four  when  Van 
Tricasse  lighted  his  huge  pipe,  which  held  quarter  of  a 
pound  of  tobacco  ;  and  it  was  not  till  half-past  five  that 
he  finished  smolring  it. 

During  all  this  time  the  two  parties  never  exchanged 


46  DR.    OX'S  HOBBT. 

a  word.  About  six  o'clock  the  lawj'er  took  up  the 
thi'ead  as  follows  :  — 

' '  Then  we  will  decide  "  — 

"  To  decide  nothing,"  replied  the  burgomaster. 

"  I  thinlv,  on  the  whole,  3'ou  are  right,  Van  Tricasse." 

"  I  thinli  so  too,  Xiklausse.  We  will  make  up  our 
minds  about  the  commissarj'-civil  when  we  are  better 
informed,  later  :  we  are  not  limited  to  a  month." 

"  No,  nor  to  a  3'ear,"  said  Niklausse,  unfolding  his 
handkerchief,  which  he  used  with  the  utmost  discre- 
tion. 

A  fresh  silence,  which  lasted  a  good  hour,  ensued. 
Nothing  troubled  this  new  halt  in  the  conversation,  not 
even  the  appearance  of  the  house-dog,  honest  Lento, 
who,  no  less  phlegmatic  than  his  master,  made  a  polite 
tour  of  the  parlor.  Worth}^  dog  !  —  a  model  for  all  his 
race.  He  might  have  been  made  of  pasteboard,  with 
wheels  at  his  feet,  and  made  no  less  noise. 

Towards  eight  o'clock,  Lotche  haA^ng  brought  in  the 
dim  old  lamp,  the  burgomaster  said  to  the  lawyer,  — 

"We  have  no  other  important  business  to  settle, 
Niklausse?" 

"  No,  Van  Tricasse  ;  none  that  I  know  of." 

"  But  did  I  not  hear,"  asked  the  bm-gomaster, 
"  that  the  tower  at  Audenarde  Gate  was  in  a  danger- 
ous state  ?  " 

"  You  did  indeed,"  replied  the  lawj'er ;  "  and,  to  tell 
the  truth,  I  should  not  be  surprised,  if,  some  day  or 
other,  it  fell  and  crushed  some  one." 


DR.    OX'S  nOBBT.  47 

"Oh!"  replied  the  burgomaster.  "Before  such  a 
misfortune  happens,  I  trust  we  shall  have  come  to 
some  decision  respecting  the  tower." 

"  I  trust  so,  Van  Tricasse." 

"  There  are  more  urgent  questions  to  be  considered." 

"  Doubtless,"  said  the  lawj^er ;  "  the  question  of  the 
Shoe  and  Leather  Dealers'  Exchange,  for  instance." 

"Is  it  still  burning?  "  asked  the  burgomaster. 

"  Still  burning,  and  has  been  for  three  weeks." 

"  Did  not  we  decide  in  council  to  let  it  burn?  " 

"  Yes,  Van  Tricasse,  and  that  by  3- our  advice." 

' '  Was  it  not  the  safest  and  simplest  way  of  getting 
satisfaction  for  the  fli-e  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  Well,  let  me  see.     Is  that  all?  " 

"  That  is  all,"  replied  the  lawyer,  scratching  his  ear, 
as  if  to  assure  himself  that  he  had  not  forgotten  any 
thing  important. 

"  B}' the  by,"  said  the  burgomaster,  "have  you 
heard  that  a  flood  threatened  to  overflo^v^  the  lower 
Quartier  de  St.  Jacques  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  "  said  the  lawj-er.  "  What  a  shame 
that  the  flood  did  not  occur  above  the  Shoe  and  Leather 
Dealers'  Exchange  !  It  would  have  fought  the  flames, 
and  spared  us  the  trouble  of  discussion." 

"  What  can  you  expect,  Niklausse,"  replied  the 
worthy  burgomaster':  "  there  are  no  such  unreasonable 
things  as  accidents.     They  have  nothing  in  common  ; 


48  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

and  we  cannot  profit  by  one  to  diminish  another,  as  we 
would." 

This  fine  remark  from  Van  Tricasse  required  some 
digestion  by  his  friend  and  fellow-councillor. 

"Well,"  added  Lawj-er  Niklausse  a  few  moments 
later ;  ' '  but  we  have  never  even  mentioned  the  most 
important  thing." 

"What  important  thing?  Is  there  anything  im- 
portant ?  "  asked  the  burgomaster. 

"  Of  course  ;  about  lighting  the  streets." 

"  Oh,  3'es !  "  said  the  burgomaster.   "  If  m}'  memory, 
serves  me  rightly,  you  mean  Dr.  Ox's  scheme  for  light- 
ing the  streets  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"WeU?" 

"It  is  progressing  finely,  Niklausse,"  said  the  bur- 
gomaster. "They  are  lajing  the  pipes  ;  and  the  works 
are  being  built." 

"  Perhaps  we've  been  a  little  hasty  in  this  matter," 
said  the  lawj-er,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  burgomaster ;  "  but  our  excuse 
is,  that  Dr.  Ox  pays  all  the  expenses  of  his  experiment 
It  will  not  cost  us  a  penny." 

"  That  is,  indeed,  our  excuse.  Then  we  must 
travel  with  our  age.  If  the  experiment  succeeds, 
Quiquendone  will  be  the  first  cit}'  in  Flanders  ever 
lighted  with  oxy  —  what  do  3'ou  call  it  —  gas  ?  " 

"  Ox^-hydrogen  gas." 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  49 

"  Hurrah  for  the  oxyhyclrogen  gas  !  " 

Just  then  the  door  opened ;  and  Lotche  announced 
that  the  bui'gomaster's  supper  was  ready. 

Lawyer  Niklausse  rose  to  take  leave  of  Van  Tricasse, 
to  whom  so  many  decisions  arrived  at,  and  affairs  dis- 
cussed, had  given  quite  an  appetite.  It  was  then  de- 
cided that  a  meeting  of  prominent  citizens  should  be 
held,  to  consider  whether  they  should  decide  provision- 
ally on  the  really  urgent  question  of  Audenarde  Tower. 

The  two  worthy  officials  then  turned  toward  the 
street-door,  one  showing  the  other  out.  The  lawyer, 
having  reached  the  last  step,  lighted  a  small  lantern, 
which  was  to  guide  him  through  the  dark  streets  of 
Quiquendone,  not  yet  illumined  by  Dr.  Ox's  gas. 
The  night  was  black ;  it  was  October ;  and  a  slight 
fog  overhung  the  town. 

Lawyer  Niklausse's  preparations  for  departure  con- 
sumed a  good  half-hour  ;  for,  after  lighting  his  lantern- 
he  had  to  put  on  his  great  cowhide  clogs  and  his  thick 
sheepskin  gloves ;  then  he  turned  up  his  fur  collar, 
pulled  his  hat  over  his  ej-es,  grasped  his  heary  hook- 
handled  umbrella,  and  prepared  to  start. 

Just  as  Lotche,  who  was  holding  the  light  for  her 
master,  was  about  to  draw  the  bolts,  an  unexpected 
noise  was  heard  without. 

Yes,  incredible  as  it  may  appear,  a  real  noise,  such 
as  the  city  had  not  heard  since  the  taking  of  the  don- 
jon by  the  Spanish,  in   1513,  a  frightful  noise,  waked 

6 


50  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

the  sleeping  echoes  of  the  old  Van  Trieasse  mansion. 
Some  one  was  pounding  on  that  door,  hitherto  A^rgin  \  o 
every  brutal  touch.  Some  one  struck  redoubled  blows 
with  a  bluut  instrument,  which  must  have  been  a  knot- 
t}'  stick,  wielded  by  a  sturd}-  hand.  TTith  the  blows 
were  mingled  cries  and  calls.  These  words  were  dis- 
tinctly heard, — 

'  •  Monsieur  Van  Trieasse  !  Monsieur  bm'gomaster  ' 
Open,  open  quickly  !  " 

The  burgomaster  and  the  lawyer,  quite  confounded, 
gazed  at  each  other  without  a  word.  This  surpassed 
their  wildest  di'eam.  The  old  castle  culverin,  which 
had  not  been  used  since  1385,  might  have  been  fired 
in  the  parlor  without  ' '  flooring  "  the  dwellers  in  the 
Van  Trieasse  mansion  more  completely.  Excuse  the 
phrase  for  its  suitability  to  the  occasion. 

Meanwhile  the  blows,  the  cries,  the  calls,  increased. 
Lotche,  recovering  herself,  ventured  to  speak. 

"  "Who's  there? "  she  asked- 

"  It's  I!     It's  I!" 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  Commissary  Passauf." 

Commissar^'  Passauf !  The  very  man  whose  office 
the}'  had  for  ten  years  tried  to  suppress.  What  was 
the  matter  ?  Had  the  Burgundians  invaded  Quiquen- 
done,  as  they  did  in  the  fourteenth  century?  No  less 
important  an  event  could  have  so  moved  Commissary 
Passauf,  who  would  not  3ield  a  point  in  calmness  and 
phlegm  to  the  burgomaster  himself. 


DR.    OX-S  HOBBY.  51 

At  a  sign  from  Van  Tricasse,  foi  the  good  man 
could  not  speak,  the  bolt  was  withdrawn,  and  the 
door  opened. 

Commissary  Passauf  burst  into  the  room  like  a 
whirlwind.  "What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Commissarj' ?  " 
asked  Lotche,  a  brave  gh-1,  who  never  lost  her  head  in 
the  most  trying  times. 

""What  is  the  matter!"  answered  Passauf,  whose 
big  round  eyes  expressed  lively  emotion.  "  The  matter 
is  that  I  come  from  Dr.  Ox's  house,  where  there  is  a 
party,  and  there  "  — 

"  There?"  said  the  lawyer. 

"There  I  witnessed  such  a  quarrel  that —  Bur- 
gomaster, they  talked  politics  !  " 

"Politics?"  repeated  Van  Tricasse,  his  very  wig 
standing  on  end. 

"  Politics,"  said  Commissary  Passauf,  "  a  thing  that 
has  not  happened  in  Quiquendone  for  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years.  Then  the  discussion  grew  fierce.  Lawyer 
Andre  Schut  and  Dr.  Dominic  Gustos  took  sides  with 
such  violence,  that  I  fear  they  11  call  each  other 
out." 

"  CaU  each  other  out ! "  cried  the  lawyer.  "A  duel ! 
A  duel  in  Quiquendone ! "  And  what  did  Lawj^er 
Schut  and  Dr.  Custos  saj-  ?  " 

"  These  ver}-  words  :  '  Sir  lawyer,'  said  the  doctor 
to  his  adversar}-,  '  yon  go  rather  too  far,  it  seems  to  me, 
and  don't  stop  to  measure  your  words.'  " 


52  DR.    OX'S   HOD  BY. 

Burgomaster  Van  Tricasse  clasped  his  hands.  The 
lawj'er  turned  pale,  and  let  his  lantern  fall.  The  com- 
missary shook  his  head.  So  highly  provocative  a 
phrase,  uttered  hj  two  prominent  citizens  ! 

"That  Dr.  Custos,"  muttered  Van  Tricasse,  "is 
decidedly  a  dangerous  character,  a  craz}-  pate.  Come, 
gentlemen ! " 

And,  upon  this,  Law^-er  Niklausse  and  the  commis- 
sary returned  to  the  parlor  with  Burgomaster  Van  Tri- 
casse. 


IV. 


HOW  DR.  OX  PROVED   HIMSELF    A    PHYSIOLOGIST    OF    THE 
FIRST  ORDER  AND  A  BOLD  EXPERIMENTALIST. 

Who  was  this  fellow  known  b}-  the  strange  name  of 
Dr.  Ox?  An  original,  of  course,  but  at  the  same  time  a 
daring  savant,  a  ph^-siologist  whose  labors  were  known 
and  appreciated  throughout  scientific  Europe,  a  lucky 
rival  of  Dav'y,  Dalton,  Bostock,  Menzies,  Godwin, 
Vierordt,  and  all  those  gi'eat  minds  who  have  raised 
phj'siology  to  the  foremost  rank  among  modern  sciences. 

Dr.  Ox  was  a  man  of  medium  height  and  size,  and 
aged  —  but  we  will  not  be  particular  as  to  his  age  or 
nationality ;  for  what  matters  it  ?  Enough  to  know  that 
lie  was  a  strange  being,  hot-headed  and  impetuous,  a 


DR.    OK-S   nOBBY.  53 

character  from  a  Hoffman  tale,  and  in  sing.ilar  contrast 
with  the  people  of  Quiquendone.  He  had  an  impertur- 
bable confidence  in  himself  and  his  doctrines.  Always 
smiling,  vralking  with  head  erect,  shoulders  thi'own  back, 
easy  and  unrestrained,  with  wide  expanded  nosti'ils, 
and  large  mouth  draAving  in  great  draughts  of  aii',  it 
was  a  pleasure  to  look  at  him.  He  was  alive,  thor- 
oughly alive,  well  balanced  in  ever}-  part,  in  fine  run- 
ning order,  with  quicksilver  in  his  veins,  and  never 
letting  the  gi'ass  grow  under  his  feet.  He  was  never 
at  rest,  and  overflowed  in  hastj'  w^ords  and  superabun- 
dant gestures. 

Was  this  Dr.  Ox  rich,  that  he  proposed  to  light 
the  whole  town  at  his  own  expense  ? 

Probably',  since  he  allowed  himself  such  extrava- 
gance ;  and  that  is  the  only  answer  we  can  give  to  so 
indiscreet  a  question. 

Dr.  Ox  arrived  five  months  before  in  Quiquendone, 
together  with  his  assistant,  who  answered  to  the  name 
of  Gideon  Ygene,  a  tall,  thin,  diy,  but  no  less  lively 
fellow  than  his  master. 

And  now,  why  had  Dr.  Ox  agreed  to  light  the  town 
at  his  own  expense  ?  "VYhy  had  he  chosen  the  peaceful 
Quiquendonians,  the  Dutchest  of  all  Dutch?  and  wh^- 
did  he  desh'e  to  endow  their  city  with  this  uulvnowa 
-ight  ?  Did  he  design  some  great  physiological  experi- 
ment under  this  pretext,  working  in  anima  vili?  Or 
what  was  this  strange  creature's  plan?  "We  cannot 
5* 


54  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

tell,  Dr.  Ox  ha%ing  no  other  confidant  than  his  assist- 
ant Ygene,  who,  moreover,  obeyed  him  blindly. 

To  all  appearance,  at  least.  Dr.  Ox  meant  to  light 
the  town,  which  needed  it  sadl}",  "  especially  at  night," 
us  Commissar}'  Passaiif  shrewdly  remarked.  So  works 
for  the  manufacture  of  gas  had  been  built.  The  gas- 
ometers were  in  working  order ;  and  the  conduit  pipes, 
running  under  the  streets,  were  soon  to  appear  in  the 
shape  of  biu-ners  in  all  the  public  buildings,  and  even 
in  the  houses  of  certain  friends  of  progress. 

Van  Tricasse,  in  his  quality  of  bm-gomaster,  Nik- 
lausse  in  his  quality  of  town  councillor,  and  some  few 
leading  citizens,  felt  authoiized  to  introduce  the  new 
light  into  their  own  houses. 

K  the  reader  will  remember,  it  was  mentioned  in  the 
burgomaster's  and  lawj-er's  lengthy  conversation,  that 
the  city  would  be  lighted,  not  b}'  the  combustion  of 
vulgar  carburetted  hydi'ogen,  produced  b}'  the  distilla- 
tion of  oil,  but  by  a  much  more  modern  gas,  twenty 
times  more  brilliant,  —  oxyh^'drogen  gas,  produced  by 
a  mixture  of  oxygen  and  hj^drogen. 

Now,  the  doctor,  a  skilful  chemist  and  ingenious 
experimentalist,  knew  a  way  of  producing  this  gas  in 
large  quantities  and  at  a  cheap  rate,  not  b}'  the  use  of 
manganate  of  soda,  according  to  M.  Tessie  du  Motay's 
method,  but  simply  bj'  decomposing  slightly  acidulated 
water,  by  means  of  a  battery  formed  of  new  elements, 
invented  by  himself ;  so  that  no  costly  substances,  no 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  55 

platina,  no  retorts,  no  fuel,  no  delicate  apparatus,  were 
requii'ed  to  produce  the  two  kinds  of  gas  separatel}'. 
An  electric  current  traversed  large  tubs  of  water  ;  and 
the  liquid  element  was  decomposed  into  its  two  prime 
factors,  —  oxygen  and  hydrogen.  The  oxygen  passed 
to  one  side  ;  the  h3'di'ogen,  in  double  proportion  to  its 
former  partner,  passed  to  the  other.  They  were  col- 
lected in  separate  tanks, : —  a  necessary  precaution, 
since  their  mixture  would  have  produced  a  fearful 
explosion,  if  they  caught  fire.  Then  pipes  were  to  con- 
vey them  separately  to  the  various  burners,  which  would 
be  so  prepared  as  to  guard  against  all  risk  of  an  ex^jlo- 
sion.  A  flame  of  remarkable  brilliance  would  thus  be 
produced,  —  a  flame  which  would  rival  the  electric  light, 
and  which,  as  everj'  one  knows,  according  to  Cassel- 
maun's  experiments,  would  equal  that  of  eleven  hun- 
dred and  seventy-one  candles,  not  one  more  nor  less. 

The  cit}'  of  Quiquendone  would  certainly  gain  a  su- 
perb light  by  this  generous  project ;  but  that  was  the 
least  part  of  Dr.  Ox's  and  his  assistant's  plan,  as  ^\\\\ 
be  seen  in  the  end. 

The  very  day  after  Commissary  Passauf  had  made 
so  startling  an  entry  into  the  burgomaster's  parlor, 
Gideon  Ygene  and  Dr.  Ox  were  talking  together  in 
their  common  laboratorj-  on  the  groimd-floor  of  the 
principal  building  in  the  gas-works. 

"  Well,  Ygene,  well!"  cried  Dr.  Ox,  rubbing  his 
hands.    "You  saw  the  good  Quiquendonians  at  our  re- 


56  DR.    OX' a   HOBBY. 

ceiDtion  3'esterday,  the  fellows  who  foiTQ  the  counecting 
link  between  sponges  and  coralligiuous  excrescences. 
You  saw  them  disputing,  and  provoking  each  other  by 
word  and  gesture,  morally  and  ph3'sically  changed  al- 
ready. '  And  this  is  but  the  beginning.  Wait  until  we 
treat  them  to  a  strong  dose  !  " 

"  Indeed,  master,"  answered  Gideon  Ygene,  scratch- 
ing his  sharp  nose  with  the  tip  of  his  forefinger,  "  the 
experiment  promises  well ;  and,  if  I  had  not  been  pru- 
dent enough  to  close  the  stopcock,  there's  no  knowing 
what  would  have  happened." 

"You  heard  that  Law3er  Schut  and  Dr.  Gustos?" 
added  Dr.  Ox.  "  The  phi-ase  was  no  harm  in  itself; 
but,  from  the  mouth  of  a  Quiquendouian,  it  was  equal 
to  the  whole  list  of  insults  uttered  by  Homeric  heroes 
before  unsheathing  their  swords.  Oh  these  Dutch ! 
You'll  see  what  we'll  make  of  them  j'et ! '' 

"We  shall  make  ingrates  of  them,"  replied  Gideon 
Ygene,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who  judges  humanity  at 
its  proper  value. 

"Bah!"  cried  the  doctor,  "what  matter  whether 
they  recognize  our  kindness,  or  not,  if  our  experiment 
succeeds  ?  " 

"Besides,"  said  the  assistant  with  a  malicious  smile, 
"  have  you  no  fear  of  deranging  the  lungs  of  these 
honest  Quiquendonians  b}'  introducing  such  an  exciting 
element  into  their  respirator}^  organs  ?  " 

"So  much  the  worse  for  them!"  replied  Dr.   Ox.. 


DR.    OX'S  BOBBY.  57 

"It  is  in  the  interest  of  science.  "WTiat  should  you 
say  if  dogs  or  frogs  refused  to  i^ermit  vivisection  ?  " 

It  is  very  probable,  that,  if  we  consulted  frogs  and 
dogs,  the}'  might  make  some  objection  to  the  practice 
of  Aivisection.  But  Dr.  Ox  evidently  thought  he  had 
found  an  irrefutable  argument ;  for  he  heaved  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction. 

"After  all,  master,  j'ou  are  right,"  replied  Gideon 
Ygene  with  an  au'  of  conviction.  "  "We  could  find  no 
better  subjects  than  these  people  of  Quiquendone." 

"  We  could  not,"  said  the  doctor,  emphasizing  each 
word. 

' '  You  have  felt  these  creatui'es'  pulses  ?  " 

"  A  hundred  times." 

"  And  what  is  then-  mediiun'  pulsation? " 

"Not  fifty  beats  a  minute.  Just  think !  a  town, 
where,  for  a  centur}',  there  has  not  been  even  the 
shadow  of  a  discussion ;  where  the  carters  never  swear, 
the  cabmen  never  wrangle  ;  where  the  horses  never  run 
awa}',  the  dogs  never  bite,  and  the  cats  never  scratch,  — • 
a  town  whose  police-court  never  has  a  case  from  one 
year's  end  to  another,  —  a  town  where  no  one  cares 
for  any  thing,  for  art  or  for  commerce,  —  a  town  where 
policemen  are  mythical  beings,  and  in  which  there  has 
not  been  a  lawsuit  for  a  hundred  years,  —  a  town,  in 
fine,  where,  for  tkree  hundred  years,  a  blow  has  nevei 
been  given,  nor  a  box  on  the  ear  exchanged.  You  see, 
•Master  Ygene,  that  this  cannot  last,  and  we  must 
bring  about  a  change." 


58  DR.   OX'S  HOBBY. 

"Just  SO,  just  so!"  replied  the  enthusiastic  as- 
sistant. "  And  the  air  of  the  town,  master,  haA*e  3-ou 
analyzed  it  ?  " 

' '  I  have  not  faUed  to  do  so :  ninety- nine  parts 
azote,  one  part  ox3'geu,  and  carbonic-acid  and  watery 
\apor  in  variable  quantities.  Those  are  the  ordinar}' 
proportions." 

"  Good,  doctor,  good !  "  said  Master  Ygene.  "  The 
experiment  will  be  grand,  and  it  must  be  successful." 

"  And,  if  it  is  successful,"  added  Dr.  Ox  triumph- 
antly, "  we  will  reform  the  world." 


V. 

HOW  THE   BURGOMASTEE   AND   THE   LAWTEK    VISITED 
DR.    OX,    AND   WHAT  HAPPENED   TO,  THEM. 

Lawyer  Niklausse  and  Burgomaster  Van  Tricasse 
knew  noAV  what  it  was  to  pass  a  restless  night.  The 
grave  event  which  had  taken  place  in  Dr.  Ox's  house 
reall}'  kept  them  awake.  "WTiat  would  be  the  result  of 
it?  Thej'  could  not  imagine.  Would  the}-  have  to 
settle  any  thing?  Would  municipal  authority,  repre- 
sented by  them,  be  forced  to  interfere?  Must  they 
issue  arrests  to  prevent  a  renewal  of  the  scandal  ? 

All  these  doubts  could  not  but  distm-b  such  tranquil 


DR.    OX'S  HOBBY.  59 

natures.     The  two  worthies,  therefore,  before  parting, 
"  decided  "  to  meet  the  next  day. 

The  next  day,  then,  before  dinner,  Burgomaster  Van 
Tricasse  transported  himself  to  Lawj-er  Niklausse's 
house.  lie  found  his  friend  more  calm.  He  himself 
felt  quite  as  usual. 

"  Nothing  new?"  inquired  Van  Tricasse. 

"  Nothing  new  since  yesterday,"  replied  Niklausse. 

' '  And  Dr.  Dominic  Gustos  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  no  more  about  him  than  about  Lawyer 
Andi'e  Schut." 

After  an  hour's  conversation,  which  could  be  put 
into  three  lines,  and  which  it  would  be  foolish  to  re- 
peat, the  lawyer  and  the  burgomaster  resolved  to  pay 
a  visit  to  Dr.  Ox,  that  the}-  might  draw  something  out 
of  him  unawares. 

Contrary  to  their  custom,  their  decision  once  taken, 
the  two  worthies  set  to  work  to  cany  it  out  at  once. 
They  left  the  house,  and  proceeded  towards  Dr.  Ox's 
gas-works,  on  the  outsldrts  of  the  town,  near  Aude- 
narde  Gate,  —  the  very  one  whose  tower  was  falling  to 
deca}-. 

The  burgomaster  and  the  lawyer  did  not  take  each 
other's  arm,  but  walked,  passibus  cequis,  with  slow  and 
solemn  steps,  which  advanced  them  about  thirteen 
inches  per  second.  This  was  their  usual  gait ;  for  no 
one,  within  the  memoiy  of  man,  had  ever  been  known 
to  run  through  the  streets  of  Quiquendone. 


GO  DR.    OX'S   BOBBY. 

From  time  to  time,  at  a  calm  and  tranquil  cross- 
road, or  at  the  corner  of  some  quiet  street,  our  two 
worthies  stopped  to  speak  to  some  one. 

"  Good-da}',  burgomaster !  "  said  one. 

"  Good-day,  my  friend  ! "  replied  Van  Tricasse. 

'•  Xothing  new,  lawyer?  "  asked  another. 

"  Nothing  new,"  said  Niklausse. 

But,  b}'  certain  strange  signs  and  inquisitive  glances, 
the}'  guessed  that  last  night's  quarrel  was  known 
throughout  the  town.  The  very  road  pursued  b}-  Van 
Tricasse  might  tell  the  most  obtuse  Quiquendonian 
that  the  burgomaster  was  bound  on  some  important 
errand.  The  Custos-Schut  affair  filled  ever}-  mind ; 
but  people  were  not  yet  read}-  to  take  sides.  The 
lawyer  and  the  doctor  were,  on  the  whole,  highlj'-esti- 
mable  folks.  Lawyer  Schut,  never  having  had  occa- 
sion to  plead,  in  a  city  where  courts  and  judges  only 
existed  in  tradition,  had  never  lost  a  case.  As  for 
Dr.  Gustos,  he  Avas  an  honorable  practitioner,  who  — 
an  example  to  all  his  brethren  —  cured  sick  men  of 
ever}'  illness  save  mortal  ones,  —  a  bad  habit,  unfor- 
tunately followed  by  the  members  of  every  faculty  in 
every  country. 

On  arriving  at  Audenarde  Gate,  the  lawyer  and  the 
burgomaster  wisely  made  a  slight  detour,  to  get  out  of 
the  ' '  line  of  fall "  of  the  tower  ;  then  they  considered 
it  attentiA  ely. 

''  I  think  it  will  fall,"  said  Van  Tricasse. 


DR.    OX'S  HOB  BY.  (jl 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Niklausse. 

"  Unless  it  is  propped  up,"  added  "Van  Trieasse. 
"  But  shall  we  prop  it  up?    That  is  the  question." 

"Yes,  that  is  the  question,"  said  Niklausse. 

A  few  moments  after,  they  presented  themselves  at 
the  gas-house  door. 

"  Is  Dr.  Ox  in?  "  they  asked. 

Dr.  Ox  was  always  in  for  the  great  authorities  of  the 
city ;  and  they  were  at  once  introduced  into  the  cele- 
brated plwsiologist's  laboratory. 

The  two  worthies  may  have  waited  a  full  hour  before 
the  doctor  made  his « appearance :  at  least,  we  are 
.forced  to  think  so ;  for  the  burgomaster,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  showed  some  impatience,  in  which  his 
comrade  shared. 

Dr  Ox  came  at  last,  and  excused  himself  for  keep- 
ing the  gentlemen  waiting ;  but  a  plan  for  a  gasometer 
to  correct,  a  pipe  to  examine  .  .   . 

All  was  going  on  finely.  The  oxygen  conduits  were 
already  laid.  Before  many  months  the  town  would 
be  splendidly  lighted.  The  two  worthies  could  already 
see  the  mouths  of  the  burners  which  came  out  in  the 
doctor's  room. 

Then  the  doctor  inquired  the  motive  which  procured 
him  the  honor  of  a  visit  from  the  burgomaster  and  the 
lawyer. 

"Whj',  to  see  you,  doctor,  to  see  you!"  answered 
Van  Trieasse.     "  It's  a  long  time  since  we've  had  that 

6 


62  DR.    OX'S  nOBBY. 

pleasure.  "We  rarely  go  out  in  our  good  town  of  Qui- 
quendonc.  "We  count  our  steps,  and  are  happy  when 
nothing  disturbs  our  quiet  life." 

Niklausse  stared  at  his  friend.  His  friend  had 
never  made  such  a  long  speech  before, —  at  least,  ^\ith- 
out  taking  time,  and  punctuating  his  phrases  by  long 
pauses.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Van  Tricasse  expressed 
himself  with  unwonted  fluency.  Nildausse  himself  felt 
an  irresistible  desire  to  talk. 

As  for  Dr.  Ox,  he  gazed  attentively  at  the  burgo- 
master with  his  evil  eyes. 

"Van  Tricasse,  who  never  argued  until  comfortably 
installed  in  an  easy-chah',  had  risen.  Some  strange 
nervous  excitement,  quite  foreign  to  his  nature,  pos- 
sessed him.  He  did  not  yet  gesticulate ;  but  that 
would  soon  follow.  As  for  the  lawj^er,  he  rubbed  his 
legs,  drawing  long,  deep  breaths.  His  gaze  grew 
more  and  more  animated;  and  he  "decided,"  if  need 
be,  to  sustain  his  faithful  friend,  the  burgomaster. 
Van  Tricasse  rose,  took  several  paces  forwards,  then 
seated  himself  again  opposite  the  doctor. 

"And  in  how  many  months,"  he  asked  with  slight 
emphasis,  —  "in  how  many  months  do  you  sa}^  your 
task  will  be  completed?" 

"  In  three  or  four  months,  burgomaster,"  answered 
Dr.  Ox. 

"  Three  or  four  months  !  That's  a  very  long  time," 
said  Van  Tricasse. 


DR.    OX'S  HOBBY.  63 

Mucli  too  long,"  added  Niklausse,  who,  no  longer 
able  to  sit  still,  had  also  risen. 

"  We  require  that  space  of  time  for  preparation," 
said  the  doctor.  "The  workmen,  whom  we  have 
chosen  from  the  people  of  Quiquendone,  are  by  no 
moans  expeditious." 

"How?  Xot  expeditious  !"  cried  the  burgomaster, 
who  seemed  to  take  the  remark  as  a  personal  offence. 

"  Xo,  burgomaster,"  said  Dr.  Ox  serenel}".  "  A 
French  workman  could  do  as  much  in  a  day  as  ten  of 
3'our  felloAvs  :  j-ou  know  the}-  are  pure  Flemish." 

"Flemish!"  cried  Lawj'er  Niklausse,  doublmg  his 
fists.     "  What  do  j'ou  mean  by  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  Simpl}'  what  every  one  else  means  by  it,"  said  the 
doctor,  smiling. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  burgomaster,  striding  up  and 
down  the  room,  "I  don't  like  such  insinuations.  The 
workmen  of  Quiquendone  are  as  good  as  the  workmen 
of  an}'  city  in  the  world,  let  me  tell  you  ;  and  we 
sha'ii't  send  to  Paris,  or  to  London  either,  for  models. 
As  for  your  work,  I  beg  you  will  hasten  its  completion. 
Our  pavements  are  torn  up  for  the  laying  of  the  pipes  ; 
and  it  hinders  travel.  Commerce  will  suffer ;  and  I, 
the  chief  officer  of  the  town,  don't  care  to  be  blamed, 
however  justly." 

Brave  burgomaster !  He  talked  of  commerce,  of 
travel ;  and  these  unaccustomed  words  did  not  stick  in 
his  throat.     What  could  have  happened  to  him? 


64  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

"  Besides,"  acWed  Niklausse,  "  the  cit}'  can't  be  left 
in  darkness  any  longer." 

"But,"  said  the  doctor,  "  a  town  that  has  waited 
eight  or  nine  years  "  — 

"All  the  more  reason,  sir,"  said  the  burgomaster, 
emphasizing  his  words.  "  Times  have  changed.  This 
is  the  age  of  progress,  and  we  will  not  be  left  behind ! 
Our  streets  must  be  lighted  in  less  than  a  month,  or 
3'ou  must  pa}^  a  fine  for  every  daj-'s  dela}'.  And  what 
if  some  scuffle  should  occur  in  the  darkness  ?  " 

"To  be  sure!"  cried  Niklausse.  "  It  only  takes  a 
spark  to  inflame  a  Fleming.     Fleming,  flame  "  — 

"And,  b^'  the  waj',"  said  the  burgomaster,  cutting 
his  friend  short,  "  the  chief  of  city  police.  Commissary 
Passauf,  reports  that  there  was  a  discussion  at  your 
rooms  last  night,  sir.  Was  he  wrong  in  sajing  that  it 
was  a  political  discussion  ?  " 

"  Quite  right,  burgomaster,"  answered  Dr.  Ox,  who 
could  not  repress  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  And  was  there  not  a  quarrel  between  Dr.  Dominic 
Gustos  and  Lawyer  Andi*e  Schut  ?  " 

"Yes,  lawyer;  but  the}^  exchanged  no  very  serious 
words." 

"  Not  ver^^  serious  ! "  cried  the  burgomaster, —  "  not 
very  serious,  when  one  man  tells  another  that  he  does 
not  consider  his  words  !  What  are  you  made  of,  sir? 
Don't  3'ou  know  that  in  Qidquendone  it  takes  very  lit- 
tle more  to  bring  altout   most    disagreeable    results? 


DR.    OX'S   nOBBY.  G5 

WTiy,  sir,  if  3-ou  or  aii}'  one  else  dared  to  use  sucli  lan- 
guage to  me  "  — 

"  Or  to  me,"  said  Niklausse. 

Uttering  these  words  with  threatening  toues,  the 
two  worthies  confronted  Dr.  Ox,  with  arms  akimbo-,  and 
hair  erect,  ready  to  attack  him,  if  a  sign  —  less  than  a 
sign,  a  look  —  gave  them  reason  to  thinlv  he  had  any 
such  intention. 

But  the  doctor  never  winked, 

"At  any  rate,  sir,"  resumed  the  burgdtnaster,  "I 
make  you  responsible  for  whatever  takes  place  in  your 
house.  I  am  surety  for  the  peace  of  the  city  ;  and  I 
will  not  have  it  disturbed.  The  events  of  yosterda}' 
must  not  be  renewed,  or  I  shall  do  my  duty,  sir.  Do 
3'ou  understand  me?    Answer,  sir  !  " 

So  saj'ing,  the  burgomaster,  wildly  excited,  raised 
his  voice  to  the  pitch  of  passion.  lie  was  furious  — 
our  worthy  Van  Tricasse ;  and  he  could  have  been 
heard  in  the  street.  At  last,  quite  beside  himself,  and 
seeing  that  the  doctor  did  not  reply  to  his  threats,  he 
said,  — 

"  Come,  Niklausse  !  " 

And,  slamming  the  door  with  a  violence  that  shook 
the  house,  the  burgomaster  bore  the  lawyer  off  in  his 
train. 

Graduall}'  the  worthy  men  grew  calm.     They  wa'ked 
more  slowly' ;  their  pace  slackened  ;  their  color  faded  ; 
from  scarlet  the}-  grew  i)ink. 
6* 


66  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

And,  fifteen  minutes  after  leading  the  gas-works,  Van 
Tricasse  said  mild!}'  to  Xililausse,  — 

"  A  nice  man,  that  Dr.  Ox.  I  am  always  glad  to 
see  him." 


VI. 

HOW    FRANTZ    NIKLAUSSE    AND     SUZEL    VAX     TRICASSE 
FORMED    PLANS    FOR    THE    FUTURE. 

Our  readers  know  that  tlie  burgomaster  had  a  daugh- 
ter, Miss  Suzel ;  but,  bright  as  they  may  be,  the}'  have 
not  guessed  that  Law^-er  Niklausse  had  a  son,  young 
Frantz.  And,  had  the}'  guessed  it,  they  could  never 
have  dreamed  that  Frantz  was  engaged  to  Suzel.  "We 
will  add  that  the  3'oung  folks  were  just  made  for  each 
other,  and  that  they  loved  in  the  mode  of  Quiquendone. 

You  must  not  think  that  j'oung  hearts  never  throbbed 
in  this  exceptional  cit}- ;  onl}'  the}'  throbbed  with  a  cer- 
tain stupor.  People  married  there  as  they  do  every- 
where else  ;  but  they  took  theii*  time  about  it.  Lovers, 
before  taking  on  those  solemn  bonds,  wished  to  study 
one  another ;  and  the  study  lasted  at  least  ten  years,  as 
at  school.     People  seldom  "  gi-aduated  "  sooner. 

Yes,  ten  years  !  ten  j'ears,  they  courted  !  Is  that  too 
long  when  life-unions  are  to  be  made  ?  Men  study  ten 
years  to  become  a  doctor  or  an  engineer,  a  lawyer  or  a 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  67 

minister  ;  and  is  it  less  difBcult  to  become  a  husband? 
Impossible,  and,  whethei'  a  question  of  right  or  of  tem- 
perament, we  agree  with  the  Quiquendonians  in  this 
delaj'.  When  we  see  matches  made  in  a  few  months, 
in  other  cities,  we  shrug  our  shoulders,  and  hasten  to 
send  our  sons  and  daughters  to  Quiquendonian  schools. 

Within  half  a  centur}',  but  one  wedding  had  come  off 
in  less  than  two  years,  and  that  had  turned  out  badly. 

Frantz  Nildausse  loved  Suzel  Van  Tricasse  ;  but  he 
loved  her  calmh',  as  one  does  love  when  he  has  ten  3"ears 
before  him  in  which  to  win  the  object  of  liis  affections. 
Once  a  week,  at  a  certain  time,  Frantz  called  for  Suzel, 
and  took  her  to  the  banks  of  the  Vaar.  He  took  care 
to  bring  his  fishing-line  ;  and  Suzel  never  forgot  her 
embroider}',  on  which  lier  pretty  fingers  wove  the  most 
unnatural  of  blossoms. 

We  must  here  mention  that  Frantz  was  a  \'outh  of 
twenty-two  ;  that  a  light  peach-down  tinted  his  cheeks  ; 
and  that  his  voice  hardl}'  stretched  from  one  octave  to 
another. 

As  for  Suzel,  she  was  pink  and  white.  She  was 
seventeen,  and  had  no  dislilce  to  fishing.  A  singular 
pastime  that  —  to  struggle  with  a  barbel ;  but  Frantz 
enjo3'ed  it.  It  suited  his  temperament.  He  could 
wait  patiently  as  possible,  contented  to  watch,  with  a 
dreamy  eye,  the  cork  trembling  on  the  surface  ;  and  if, 
after  a  sitting  of  six  hours,  a  modest  barbel  took  pity 
on  him,  and  consented  to  be  caught,  he  was  happ}- ;  but 
he  could  restrain  his  emotion. 


68  DR.    OX'S   nOBDY. 

On  tlie  da}^  in  question,  our  two  lovers  were  sitting 
on  the  green  bank.  The  clear  Vaar  rippled  a  few  feet 
below  them.  Suzel  carelessly'  drove  her  needle  through 
the  canvas  ;  Frantz  moved  his  line  mechanically  from 
left  to  right,  then  let  it  stem  the  current  from  right  to 
left.  The  barbels  made  fanciful  circles  in  the  water 
about  the  float,  while  the  empty  hook  dangled  lower 
down. 

From  time  to  time,  — 

"  I  think  Fve  got  a  bite,  Suzel,"  said  Frantz,  without 
lifting  his  eyes. 

"Do  you  think  so,  Frantz?"  answered  Suzel,  drop- 
ping her  work  for  a  moment,  to  follow  her  lover's  line 
■with  an  anxious  ej-e. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  said  Frantz.  "  I  thought  I  felt  a  little 
twitch  :  I  was  mistaken." 

"  There  is  a  bite,  Frantz,"  said  Suzel  in  her  sweet, 
pure  voice.  "  But  be  sure  you  hook  him  in  time.  You're 
alwaj's  several  seconds  behindhand ;  and  the  barbel 
takes  advantage  of  it  to  escape." 

"  "Would  3'ou  like  to  take  my  line,  Suzel?  " 

"With  pleasure,  Frantz." 

"  Then  give  me  your  work.  Let's  see  if  I  am  more 
skilful  with  the  needle  than  the  hook." 

And  the  j'oung  girl  took  the  line  with  trembling 
hand  ;  while  the  3'ouug  man  made  the  needle  fl}'  through 
the  canvas.  And  for  hours  the}"  exchanged  just  such 
sweet  -words,  their  hearts   throbbing  when   the   cork 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  69 

bobbed.    Oh,  may  the}'  never  forget  those  happy  hours, 
when,  side  by  side,  thej^  listened  to  the  rippling  river ! 

On  this  occasion  the  sun  sank  verj-  low  on  the  hori- 
zon ;  and,  spite  of  the  combined  efforts  of  Frantz  and 
Suzel,  there  had  not  been  a  bite.  The  barbels  had  not 
been  compassionate  ;  and  they  laughed  at  the  young  pair, 
who  were  too  just  to  blame  them  for  it. 

"We  ma}'  be  more  lucky  next  time,  Frantz,"  said 
Suzel,  as  the  young  angler  stuck  his  vh'gin  hook  into 
a  bit  of  wood. 

"  I  hope  so,  Suzel !  "  said  Frantz. 

Then  the  two,  side  by  side,  went  home  without  a 
word,  as  silent  as  their  shadows,  which  fell  before  them. 
Suzel  saw  herself  tall,  oh,  so  tall !  in  the  oblique  rays  of 
the  setting  sun.  Frantz  seemed  thin,  thin  as  the  long 
line  in  his  hand. 

They  reached  the  burgomaster's  house.  Tufts  of 
green  grass  grew  round  the  shining  paving-stones  ;  and 
they  were  careful  not  to  pull  them  up,  because  they 
deadened  the  sound  of  footsteps. 

Just  before  the  doorAvas  opened,  Frantz  took  courage 
to  say  to  his  betrothed,  — 

"  You  know  the  happy  day  is  coming,  Suzel?  " 

"  It  is  really  coming,  Frantz  !  "  said  the  young  girl, 
dropping  her  long  lashes. 

"  Yes,"  said  Frantz  —  "in  five  or  six  years." 

"  Good-by,  Frantz  !  "  said  Suzel. 

"  Good-by,  Suzel !  "  said  Frantz. 


70  I)R.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

And  when  the  door  was  shut,  the  3'oung  man  turned 
with  calm  and  lazy  steps  towards  Lawyer  Niklausse's 
house. 


vn. 

HOW  ANDANTE  BECAME  ALLEGRO,  AND   ALLEGRO  VIVACE. 

The  emotion  caused  by  the  Custos-Schut  affair  was 
at  an  end. 

The  quarrel  bore  no  fniits.  It  was  to  be  hoped  that 
Quiquendone  would  retiu'n  to  its  wonted  apathy,  which 
had  been  stirred  by  a  mj'sterious  event. 

Meanwhile  the  pipes  to  cany  the  oxyh^xlric  gas  into 
the  principal  buildings  made  rapid  progi'ess.  The  con- 
duits gi'adually  grew  below  Quiquendone  pavements. 
But  the  burners  were  not  yet  ready  ;  for  they  required 
such  delicate  handling,  that  they  had  to  be  ordered 
from  abroad.  Dr.  Ox  fairly  multiplied  himself;  he  and 
his  assistant,  Ygene,  lost  not  a  moment,  urged  on  the 
worlanen,  watched  the  gasometer,  and  fed  the  huge 
batteries  which  were  decomposing  the  water  night  and 
da}'  under  the  influence  of  a  powerful  electric  current. 
Yes,  the  doctor  was  making  his  gas,  although  the  pipes 
were  not  yet  laid,  which,  between  ourselves,  was  rather 
queer.  But  before  long,  —  at  least,  so  they  hoped,  — 
before  long.  Dr.  Ox  was  to  inaugurate  his  new  light  in 
the  town  theatre. 


DR.    OX'S   IIOBBT.  71 

For  Quiqucndone  had  a  theatre, —  a  fine  building, 
on  my  word,  whose  inner  and  outer  architecture  was 
a  mixture  of  all  styles.  It  was  at  once  Ij3-zantine, 
Roman,  Gothic,  Henaissance,  with  arched,  Norman- 
pointed  windows,  rose-windows,  fantastic  belfries,  in  a 
word,  a  sample  of  ever}^  age,  part  Parthenon,  part 
Grand  Cafe  Parisien,  which  is  not  surprising ;  for 
begun  by  Burgomaster  Ludwig  Van  Tricasse,  in  1175, 
it  was  not  finished  till  1837,  by  Burgomaster  Natalis 
Van  Tricasse.  It  took  seven  hundred  j^ears  to  build  it, 
and  it  had  been  successively'  conformed  to  the  taste  of 
each  succeeding  age.  No  matter  :  it  was  a  fine  build- 
ing, whose  Eoman  pillars  and  Bj'zantine  arches  were 
not  too  much  at  variance  Avith  oxyh^-dric  gas. 

They  played  a  little  of  every  thing  at  the  Quiqucndone 
Theatre,  particularly-  ojDera  and  opera  houJfS.  But  it 
must  be  acknowledged  that  the  composers  would  never 
have  recognized  their  own  compositions,  the  movements 
were  so  changed. 

To  tell  the  truth,  every  thing  was  done  so  slowly  in 
Quiqucndone,  that  dramatic  art  was  rather  better 
suited  to  the  disposition  of  its  people.  Although  the 
doors  were  always  opened  at  four,  and  closed  at  ten, 
the}'  had  never  in  those  six  hours  pla^'cd  more  than  two 
acts.  "  Robert  le  Diable,"  "  The  Pluguenots,"  or 
"William  Tell,"  usuaHy  occupied  three  evenings,  so 
slowl}'  did  the}'  perform  these  masterpieces.  Vivace  in 
the  Quiqucndone  Theatre  dragged  like  a  regular  adagio. 


72  DR.    OX'S   UOBBY. 

Allegro  was  long,  long  drawn  out.  A  semi-demi-semi- 
quaver  was  not  equal  to  the  breve  of  an}-  other  country. 
The  most  rapid  trills,  done  to  suit  the  Quiquendonians, 
seemed  like  common  psalm-tunes.  The  easy  quavers 
rolled  languidly  forth  in  measured  time,  lest  they  should 
wound  some  dilettante's  ear.  To  give  one  example, 
Figaro's  rapid  air,  on  his  entry  in  the  first  act  of  "  The 
Barber  of  Seville,"  lasted  fifty-eight  minutes,  when  the 
actor  was  a  fire-eater. 

You  may  imagine  how  hard  it  was  for  foreign  artists 
to  conform  to  this  fashion ;  but,  as  they  were  well  paid, 
they  never  complained,  but  obeyed  the  bow  of  the 
leader  of  the  orchestra  blindly  ;  and  he  never  beat  more 
than  eight  measures  a  minute. 

And  what  applause  these  artists  won !  They  en- 
chanted, without  fatiguing,  their  Quiquendonian  hearers. 
Ever}-  hand  was  clapped  at  somewhat  distant  intervals, 
which  the  newspaper  accounts  translated  as  frenzied 
applause;  and  once  or  twice,  if  the  astonished  hall  did 
not  shake  with  bravos,  it  was  oul}-  because  they  spared 
neither  stone  nor  lime  in  the  twelfth  century-. 

Besides,  that  they  might  not  too  much  excite  these 
enthusiastic  Flemish,  the  theatre  was  onl^'  opened  once 
a  week,  which  permitted  the  actors  to  stud}'  their  parts, 
and  the  spectators  to  digest  the  beauties,  of  these  di-a- 
matic  masterpieces  more  thoroughlj'. 

This  had  long  been  the  state  of  affairs.  Foreign 
artists  were  in  the  habit  of  making  an  engagement  with 


DR.    OK-S   HOBBY.  73 

the  Qniqueadouian  director  wlien  they  wished  to  rest 
from  the  fatigues  of  other  campaigns  ;  and  it  seemed  as 
if  nothing  could  ever  change  their  custom,  when,  a 
fortnight  after  the  Schut-Custos  brawl,  an  unexpected 
event  cast  the  people  into  fresh  confusion. 

It  was  Saturda}',  the  opera  daj-.  The}'  were  not 
yet,  as  3'ou  might  suppose,  read}'  to  introduce  the  new 
gas.  jS'o  :  the  pipes  opened  into  the  hall ;  but,  for  the 
above-mentioned  reason,  the  burners  were  not  in  place, 
and  wax  candles  shed  their  soft  radiance  over  the 
many  spectators  who  crowded  the  theatre.  The  doors 
had  been  opened  to  the  public  an  hour  before  noon, 
and  at  three  the  hall  w'as  half  full.  At  one  time  there 
was  a  line  that  stretched  to  the  very  end  of  St. 
Ernuph's  Place,  to  the  apothecar}-  Josse  Liefrinck's 
shop.     This  crowd  presaged  a  fine  performance. 

"  You  are  going  to  the  theatre  to-night?  "  the  lawyer 
said  that  ver}'  morning  to  the  burgomaster. 

"  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so,"  answered  Van  Tricasse  ; 
"  and  I  shall  take  Madame  Van  Tricasse,  and  our 
daughter  Suzel,  and  our  dear  Aunty  Nemance,  who 
raves  about  fine  music." 

"Miss  Suzel  will  be  there?"  asked  the  law3-er. 

"  To  be  sure,  Niklausse." 

' '  Then  mv  son  Frantz  will  be  one  of  the  first  before 
the  door,"  said  Niklausse. 

"  An  ardent  youth,"  said  the  burgomaster  solemnly, 
"  a  hot-headed  fellow.  "We  must  keep  an  eye  on  that 
3'oung  man."  7 


74  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

"  He's  in  love,  Van  Txicasse,  —  in  love  with  your 
pretty  Siizel." 

"  "Well,  Niklause,  he  shall  marry  her.  What  more 
does  he  want?  Haven't  we  consented  to  the  mar- 
riage ? " 

"  He  wants  nothing  more.  Van  Tricasse,  nothing 
more,  the  dear  fellow  !  I  say  no  more  ;  but  he  won't 
be  the  last  to  bu}-  his  ticket." 

"Oh,  bright  and  ardent  youth !  "  cried  the  burgomas- 
ter, smiling  at  his  memories  of  the  past.  "  We've 
been  boys  ourselves,  mj-  good  lawyer.  We,  too,  have 
loved.  We  have  joined  the  ranks  in  our  da^-.  To- 
night, then,  to-night !  By  the  by,  do  3'ou  know  what  a 
gi'eat  artist  this  Fioravauti  is  ?  and  what  a  reception 
he  has  had  here  ?  He  will  long  remember  the  plaudits 
of  QuiquendOne." 

This  was  the  celebrated  tenor  Fioravanti,  whose  rare 
talent,  perfect  method,  and  sympathetic  voice,  had 
roused  the  amateui-s  of  the  city  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
enthusiasm. 

For  three  weeks  Fioravanti  had  played  with  immense 
success  in  "  The  Huguenots."  The  fii'st  act,  given  in 
Quiquendonian  style,  had  consumed  an  entire  evening  of 
the  fii'st  week  in  the  month.  Another  evening  of  the 
second  week,  prolonged  by  cmdante  ad  libitum,  had 
won  the  great  singer  a  perfect  ovation.  His  success 
increased  with  the  third  act  of  Mej'erbeer's  master- 
piece.    But  Fioravanti  was  best  in  the  fourth  act ;  and 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  75 

this  very  evening  the  fourth  act  was  to  be  pla3-ed  be- 
fore an  impatient  public. 

At  foul-  o'clock,  therefore,  the  hall  was  filled.  Boxes, 
pit,  and  parterre  were  overflowing.  Near  the  front 
shone  Burgomaster  Van  Tricasse,  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, and  good  Aunt}'  Nemance,  her  cap  decked  with 
apple-green  streamers  ;  then,  not  far  awaj',  Lawyer  Xik- 
lausse  and  his  famil}-,  including  the  amiable  Frantz. 
There,  too,  were  the  families  of  Dr.  Gustos,  Lawyer 
Schut,  Honore  S^'ntax,  the  chief  judge,  and  Sontman, 
president  of  the  insurance  compan}-,  fat  Banlicr  Collaert, 
mad  over  German  music,  tutor  Rupp,  and  the  academy 
director,  Jerome  Resh,  and  the  commissar^'-civil,  and  so 
many  other  notabilities,  that  we  could  not  name  them 
here  without  abusing  the  doctor's  patience. 

Generally  the  Quiquendonians  waited  for  the  curtain 
to  rise  in  silence,  some  reading  the  papers,  some  con- 
versing in  low  tones,  some  slowly-  and  quietly  taking 
their  seats,  and  some  casting  sheepish  glances  at  the 
kindl}'  beauties  in  the  galleries  ;  but  on  this  occasion 
it  was  evident,  even  before  the  curtain  rose,  that  un- 
wonted excitement  reigned  in  the  hall.  People  moved 
about  who  never  moved  before.  Fans  fluttered  with 
unnatural  rapidity.  Excitement  filled  everj^  breast. 
The}'  drew  long  breaths.  Some  e3'es  shone,  we 
must  confess,  quite  as  brightl}'  as  the  candles,  which 
seemed  to  fill  the  hall  with  unwonted  brilliance. 
People  really  seemed   to  see  better  than   usual,  even 


76  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

if  there  was  no  more  light.  Oh,  if  Dr,  Ox's  new 
machine  were  only  in  working  order !  But  it  was  not 
in  working  order  y&t. 

At  last  the  musicians  took  their  places.  The  first 
violin  stepped  between  the  stands  to  give  his  colleagues 
a  modest  la.  The  string,  the  wind  instruments,  and 
the  drums,  were  in  tune.  The  leader  onl}-  waited  for 
the  tinkling  bell  to  beat  the  first  strain. 

The  bell  rang.  The  fourth  act  began.  The  allegro 
appassionato  of  the  entr'acte  was  played  as  usual,  with 
slow  majest}',  which  would  have  startled  the  illustrious 
Meyerbeer,  but  whose  grandeur  was  plain  to  every 
Quiquendonian . 

Soon  the  leader  lost  all  control  of  his  men.  He 
could  not  hold  them  back,  calm  and  obedient  as  they 
generally  were.  The  wind-instruments  seemed  dis- 
posed to  hurry  matters  ;  and  he  had  to  use  a  strong 
hand,  for  the}'  ran  away  from  the  stringed  instruments, 
which,  in  point  of  harmony,  produced  a  sad  effect.  The 
bassoon  himself,  a  son  of  Josse  Liefrinck,  the  apothe- 
cary, the  most  well  ti'ained  of  men,  began  to  lose  his 
head. 

Then  Valentine  began  the  recitative :  — 

"Sou  solo  "  — 

But  it  was  hurried.  The  leader  and  the  whole  orches- 
tra followed  her  cantabile,  perhaps  imperceptibh"  to  her. 
\Vhen  Raoul  appeared  at  the  back,  there  were  but  fifteen 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  77 

minutes  bebveeu  Valentine's  joining  him,  and  her  hiding 
him  in  the  side-room ;  while  generall}-,  according  to 
Quiquendone  tradition,  this  recitative  of  thirt3--seven 
bars  consumed  thirty-seven  minutes. 

St.  Bris,  Nevers,  Cavrannes,  and  the  Catholic  lords 
then  entered  rather  hurriedly.  The  composer  marked 
the  score  allegro  pomposo.  The  orchestra  and  the 
lords  were  allegro.,  but  b}'  no  means  pomposo ;  and, 
in  the  conspirators'  chorus  and  the  blessing  of  the 
swords,  the  allegro  never  sank.  Singers  and  musicians 
gave  the  reins  to  their  fanc}".  The  leader  no  longer 
stroA'e  to  hold  them  in  ;  nor  did  the  audience  desire  it  : 
the}-  felt  that  he  was  carried  away,  that  he  really  felt 
the  music,  and  that  it  corresponded  to  his  inmost 
aspirations.    • 

""Woulilst  thou,  like  lue,  thy  connti-y  free 
Frum  nascent  troubles  and  an  hnpioiis  war?" 

The}'  promised,  the}-  swore.  Novers.  had  bareh- 
time  to  protest,  and  to  sing,  that,  "■  among  his  ances- 
tors there  were  soldiers,  but  never  an  assassin."  He  was 
ari'ested.  The  police  and  the  militar}-  rushed  in,  and 
rapidly  swore  to  "strike  together."  St.  Bris  raised 
his  voice  in  regular  two-four  time  in  the  recitative 
that  calls  the  Catholics  to  vengeance.  The  three 
monks,  with  white  scarfs  and  bells,  hastened  in,  quite 
regardless  of  stage-directions,  which  recommend  Ihem 
to   "  advance    slowly."      The    spectators   drew   their 

7* 


78  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

swords  and  daggers,  Trhen  the  three  monks  blessed 
them  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  The  sopranos,  tenors, 
and  basses  attacked  the  allegro  f arioso  with  cries  of 
rage,  and  fled,  howling,  — 

"At  midniglit, 
No  noise ! 
'Tis  God's  Tvill : 
Yes,  at  midnight." 

Here  the  audience  rose  to  their  feet.  Every  one  was 
astir  in  boxes,  pit,  and  gallery.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
listeners  would  leap  upon  the  stage,  Burgomaster  Van 
Tricasse  at  their  head,  to  join  the  conspirators,  and 
crush  the  Huguenots,  whose  religious  opinions  they 
reall}"  shared.  They  applauded,  they  cheered,  they 
shouted.  Aunty  Nemance  arranged  her  apple-green 
strings  with  a  feverish  hand.  The  lamps  burned  bril- 
liantl3\ 

Raoul,  instead  of  slowly  lifting  the  drapery,  tore  it 
a-n  ay  with  a  superb  gesture,  and  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  Valentine. 

At  last  came  the  grand  duet,  and  it  was  led  off  in 
allegro  vivace.  Raoul  did  not  wait  for  Valentine's 
questions,  nor  she  for  his  replies.  The  charming  pas- 
sage, — 

"Danger  grows, 
And  time  flies," 

became  one  of  those  rapid  two-four  movements  which 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  79 

have  made  Offenbacli  so  famous  for  his  conspirators' 
dances.     The  andante  amoroso,  — 

"Thou  hast  spoken! 
Yes,  thou  lovest  me!" 

became  a  vivace  f arioso ;  and  the  violoncello  no  longer 
thought  of  imitating  the  singer's  notes,  as  the  score 
requires.     In  vain  Raoul  cried,  — 

"  Speak  again,  and  prolong 
My  heart's  delicious  sleep." 

Valentine  could  not  prolong  it.  An  unwonted  fire 
plainly  consumed  her.  Her  sVs  and  do's,  far  beyond 
reach,  were  alarmingh' brilliant.  She  raged,  she  gesti- 
culated, she  was  on  fire. 

The  alarm  began  to  ring,  the  bell  tolled  ;  but  what 
a  boisterous  bell !  The  ringer  was  beside  himself.  It 
was  a  fearful  tocsin,  which  struggled  madly  with  the 
transports  of  the  orchestra. 

Then  the  concluding  phrase  of  that  magnificent  act,  — 

"  Xo  more  love,  no  more  frenzy  now, 
O  heart  o'erburdened  with  remorse  ! " 

which  the  composer  marked  as  allegro  con  moto,  swept 
into  a  wild  2'>restissimo.  It  was  like  a  lightning  express. 
The  alarum  revived.  Valentine  fell  fainting.  Raoul 
threw  himself  from  the  window. 

It  was  time     The  orchestra,  fairly  drunk  with  excite- 


80  DR.    OX'S   nOBDY. 

ment,  could  continue  no  longer.  The  leader's  baton 
had  been  broken  to  fragments  on  the  prompter's  box. 
The  violin-strings  were  broken,  and  the  finger-boards 
twisted.  In  his  ftny,  the  kettle-drummer  had  cracked 
his  kettle-drum.  The  bass  was  perched  on  the  ver}-  top 
of  his  loft}'  edifice.  The  first  clarinet  had  swallowed 
his  reed,  and  the  second  hautbo}'  crushed  his  ke3-s  be- 
tween his  teetli.  The  trombone  was  out  of  tune  ;  and 
the  uuhapp}-  horn-pla3-er's  hand  stuck  fast  in  the  mouth- 
piece of  his  horn. 

And  the  audience,  —  the  puffing,  panting,  howling 
audience  !  Ever}-  face  was  as  red  as  if  its  owner  were 
on  fire.  Ilatless  men  and  cloakless  women  pushed 
and  crowded  to  get  out.  The}-  hustled  each  other  in 
the  entries  ;  the}-  elbowed  each  other  at  the  doors  ;  they 
quarrelled,  and  the\-  fought.  The}-  acknowledged  no 
authority,  no  burgomaster.  All  men  were  equal  when 
influenced  by  such  supreme  excitement. 

And  a  few  moments  later,  when  the  street  was 
reached,  they  all  recovered  their  ordinary  calm,  and 
went  quietly  home,  with  but  a  confused  memory  of  past 
events. 

The  fourth  act  of  "The  Huguenots,"  which  usually 
lasted  six  hours  by  the  clock,  began,  on  this  occasion, 
at  half-past  four,  and  was  over  at  twelve  minutes  of 
five.     It  had  lasted  eighteen  minutes. 


DR     OX'S   BOBBY.  «1 

vin. 

IN  WHICH   THE    SOLEJIN    OLD    GERMAN    WALTZ    BECOMES 
ALMOST  A  CAN-CAN. 

But  although  the  audience  recovered  their  ordinary 
cahn  on  lea%-iug  the  theatre,  although  the}-  went  quietly 
home,  feeling  only  a  fleeting  surprise,  they  had,  never- 
theless, undergone  a  strange  exaltation  ;  and  oppressed 
and  exhausted,  as  if  the}-  had  over-eaten,  they  fell 
heavily  asleep. 

The  next  day  everj-bod}-  had  some  slight  memento 
of  the  past.  One  had  lost  his  hat  in  the  crowd  ;  another, 
his  coat-tail,  torn  off  in  the  melee;  one,  her  fine  kid 
slipper  ;  another,  her  best  mantilla.  The  good  citizens' 
memory  re^'ived,  and  with  their  memory  a  certain 
sense  of  shame  for  their  unnecessary  effer\'escence.  It 
seemed  to  them  an  org}*,  whose  unconscious  heroes  they 
had  been.  They  did  not  speak  of  it :  they  were  anx- 
ious to  forget  it. 

But  the  most  astonished  man  in  town  was  Burgo- 
master Van  Tricasse.  The  next  morning,  when  he 
woke,  he  could  not  find  his  wig.  Lotche  looked  every- 
where. It  was  not  to  be  found.  The  wig  remained  on 
the  field  of  battle.  How  would  it  do  to  send  Jean  Mis- 
trol,  the  town-crier,  in  search  of  it?  No.  Better  sacri- 
fice his  wig  than  thus  expose  the  disgi-ace  of  the  city's 
fii'st  magistrate. 

Thus  mused  the  worthy  Van  Tricasse,  stretched  be- 


82  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

neath  his  blankets,  sore  of  limb,  lieav}'-  headed,  his 
tongue  coated,  and  burning  with  fever.  He  felt  no  de- 
sire to  rise  ;  and  his  brain  was  busier  this  morning  than 
it  had  been  for  forty  years.  The  honorable  gentleman 
went  over  in  his  mind  last  night's  inexplicable  occur- 
rences. He  compared  them  with  events  at  Dr.  Ox's 
partj-.  He  sought  the  cause  of  the  strange  excitability, 
which  had  thus,  on  two  occasions,  been  exhibited  by  his 
soundest  fellow-citizens. 

"  What  ails  us  all?"  he  asked  himself.  "  What  spirit 
of  folly  has  taken  hold  of  my  peaceful  Quiquendone  ? 
Are  we  all  going  mad  ?  and  must  the  whole  city  be 
turned  into  a  vast  asylum?  For  last  night  we  were  all 
there,  —  merchants,  doctors,  and  lawj-ers  ;  and,  if  my 
memory  serves  me  right,  all  yielded  to  this  infernal  folly. 
It  is  inexplicable  ;  and  I  had  eaten  nothing,  drunli  noth- 
ing, to  excite  me.  No,  an  overdone  slice  of  veal,  a  few 
spoonfuls  of  spinage,  the  whites  of  a  couple  of  eggs 
beaten  up,  and  two  small  glasses  of  ale,  mixed  with 
water,  for  dinner,  could  not  have  affected  m}'^  head.  No  ! 
There  is  some  mystery  here ;  and  as,  after  all,  I  am 
responsible  for  the  actions  of  my  electors,  I  will  hold 
a  com't  of  inquiry." 

But  the  com-t  of  inquiry  called  by  the  town  council 
came  to  no  conclusion.  The  facts  were  patent :  the 
causes  escaped  the  wisdom  of  the  magistrates.  Besides, 
they  had  all  grown  calm,  and  had  forgotten  their  ex- 
cesses.    The  very  newspapers  avoided  all  mention  of 


I)R.    OX'S   nOBBY.  83 

them ;  and  the  account  of  the  performance  in  ' '  The 
Quiquendone  Memorial "  made  no  allusion  to  their  rap- 
tures. 

And  so  the  town  resumed  its  customary  quiet.  It  be- 
came, to.  all  appearance,  as  thoroughly  Flemish  as  it 
was  before  ;  but  still  the  people's  character  and  temper- 
ament were  gradually  modified.  We  might  sa}-,  with  Dr. 
Dominic  Gustos,  that  "  they  were  gi'owing  nervous." 

This  requires  an  explanation.  The  incontestable 
changes  only  occurred  under  certain  conditions.  "When 
the  Quiquendonians  walked  along  the  streets,  in  the 
fresh  ah",  along  the  Vaar,  thej-  were  as  cold  and  method- 
ical as  ever.  So  the}'  were  when  they  kept  at  home  ; 
some  at  their  handicraft,  and  some  mentally  employed, 
some  doing  nothing,  and  some  thinking  nothing.  Their 
private  life  was  inert,  peaceful,  and  vegetative  as  ever. 
No  quarrels,  no  reproaches,  no  acceleration  of  the  ac- 
tion of  the  heart,  and  no  inflammation  of  the  brain. 
Their  average  pulse  remained  as  it  was,  —  from  fift}' 
to  fifty- two  beats  a  minute. 

But  mj'sterious  phenomenon,  which  would  have  puz- 
zled the  wisest  philosophers  of  the  age,  although  the 
Quiquendonians  were  unchanged  at  home,  they  were 
visibly  metamoiphosed  abroad. 

For  instance,  did  they  meet  in  any  public  building, 
there  "was  no  standing  it,"  as  Commissary  Passauf 
said.  On  'change,  at  the  town-hall,  at  the  theatre, 
at  town-meetings,  and  at  scientific  re-unions,  new  life 


84  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

seemed  to  floAV  iu  their  veins.  Scarcely  an  hour  passed, 
ere  argument  grew  hot.  The}-  waxed  angr}^  and  be- 
came personal.  Even  in  church  the  faithful  could  not 
listen  quietly  to  Minister  Vantabel,  who,  moreover, 
fidgeted  in  the  pulpit,  and  admonished  them  more  fierce- 
1}^  than  was  his  wont.  At  last  this  state  of  things  led 
to  fresh  brawls,  more  serious,  alas  !  than  that  of  Dr.  Gus- 
tos and  Lawyer  Schut ;  and,  if  the  authorities  abstained 
from  interfering,  it  was  onl}'  because  the  wranglers,  on 
i-eturning  home,  regained  their  calm,  and  forgot  all 
offences  given  and  received. 

These  strange  circumstances  did  not  strike  those 
minds  unaccustomed  to  self  analysis.  One  man  onl}', 
he  whose  office  the  town  council  had  for  thirty  3'ears 
been  trying  to  abolish,  Michael  Passauf,  noticed  that 
the  excitement,  invisible  at  home,  was  soon  revealed 
abroad  ;  and  he  wondered,  with  a  certain  trouble,  what 
would  happen  if  this  irritation  should  ever  spread  to 
private  houses,  and  if  the  epidemic  —  such  was  the 
word  he  used  —  should  pervade  the  streets.  Then  fare- 
well oblivion,  farewell  calm,  no  more  pause  in  delirium, 
but  a  continual  rage,  which  would  certainly  set  the  Qui- 
quendonians  by  the  ears. 

' '  Then  what  will  happen  ?  "  thought  Passauf,  with 
alarm.  "  How  put  a  stop  to  this  mad  fury?  How 
moderate  this  irritation?  My  office  will  be  no  sine- 
cure then ;  and  the  town  will  have  to  double  my 
salary,  —  if,  indeed,  I  am  not  arrested  m^^self  for 
breaking  the  peace,  and  disturbing  public  order." 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  85 

Now,  these  veiy  reasonable  fears  began  to  be  real- 
ized. From  the  exchange,  the  church,  the  theatre, 
and  the  town-hall,  the  e\41  spread  to  private  houses, 
and  all  within  a  fortnight  after  that  terrible  perform- 
ance of  "  The  Huguenots." 

The  first  signs  of  the  epidemic  were  declared  in 
Banker  Collaert's  house. 

This  wealthy  person  gave  a  ball,  or  at  least  a  dan- 
cing party,  to  the  principal  people  in  town.  He  had 
issued,  some  months  previous,  a  loan  of  thirtj'  thou- 
sand francs,  three-fourths  of  which  was  a  subscription  ; 
and,  in  recognition  of  this  financial  success,  he  threw 
his  house  open  to  his  friends. 

Every  one  knows  what  a  real  Flemish  reception  is, 
the  only  refreshments  being  beer  and  sirup.  Some 
tallc  about  the  weather,  harvest  prospects,  the  fine 
state  of  gardens,  flower-culture,  especially  tulip-cul- 
ture ;  now  and  then  a  slow  and  tedious  dance,  some- 
thing like  a  minuet ;  sometimes  a  waltz,  —  one  of  those 
German  waltzes  that  take  about  a  turn  and  a  half  a 
minute,  during  which  the  waltzers  move  at  arm's-length, 
—  such  is  a  ball  in  the  best  Quiquendonian  society. 
The  pollva,  having  been  reduced  to  a  qicatr^  temps,,  was 
vainly  introduced :  the  dancers  could  never  keep  up 
with  the  music,  slowly  as  they  might  play  ;  and  so  it 
was  given  up. 

These  quiet  parties,  which  aflbrded  the  young  folks 
such   simple   pleasm-e,   had   never  produced   any  bad 


86  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

results.  "Why,  then,  were  the  sirups  apparently  changed 
that  night  to  strong  wines,  to  sparkling  champagne, 
and  fiery  punch  ?  Why  did  a  strange  intoxication  take 
hold  of  all  the  guests  towards  the  middle  of  the  feast  ? 
Wh}^  did  the  minuet  become  a  saltarello  ?  Why  did  the 
musicians  play  so  fast?  Why  did  the  candles  burn  so 
brightl}^?  What  electric  current  filled  the  banker's 
parlors  ?  Why  were  there  such  ardent  pressures  when 
hands  were  clasped  in  the  dance  ? 

Alas !  What  QEdipus  could  answer  these  riddles  ? 
Commissary  Passauf,  present  at  the  party,  snufied  the 
storm  from  afar,  but  could  not  allay  it,  could  not 
escape  it ;  and  he  felt  his  brain  grow  giddy.  All  his 
faculties  increased.  He  fell  upon  the  sweets,,  and 
emptied  the  dishes,  as  if  he  had  long  been  fed  on 
starvation  diet. 

Meanwhile  the  ball  grew  more  and  more  lively.  A 
long  murmur  of  delight  escaped  from  every  breast. 
They  danced  in  real  earnest ;  their  feet  moved  to  and 
fro  with  growing  frenzy.  Faces  grew  as  red  as  Silenus. 
Eyes  shone  like  rubies.  Spirits  rose  to  the  highest 
pitch. 

And  when  the  orchestra  struck  up  the  waltz  from  Der 
Freischiitz,  when  this  slow  and  thoroughly  German 
waltz  was  attacked  with  might  and  main  by  the  musi- 
cians, it  was  no  longer  a  waltz,  but  a  mad  can-can,  a 
giddy  whirl,  a  measure  fit  to  be  led  by  Mephistophiles 
with  a  burning  brand.  Then  a  galop,  a  wild  galop,  wound 


a  o 

*!  o 

c  P 

2  N 


C*    CO 
P    B 


hi  a 

p   • 

OQ    P 
^  05 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  8/ 

for  an  hour,  without  let  or  stop,  tlii'ough  halls,  parlors, 
ante-rooms,  up  stall's  and  clown  stairs,  from  cellar  to 
gaiTet,  joined  in  by  young  men  and  maidens,  fathers 
and  mothers,  people  of  every  age,  size,  and  sex,  the  fat 
banker  Collaert  and  his  wife,  lawyers,  magistrates,  and 
judges,  Nildausse,  Madame  Van  Tricasse,  the  burgo- 
master, and  Passauf  himself,  who  never  could  remem- 
ber who  his  partner  was  that  night. 

But  "  she  "  did  not  forget ;  and,  from  that  day  forth, 
"she"  saw  the  ardent  commissary  in  her  dreams, 
holding  her  in  a  passionate  embrace  ;  and  "  she"  was 
dear  Aunty  Nemance ! 


IX. 

IN  WHICH  DR.  OX  AND  HIS  ASSISTANT  YGENE  ONLY   SPEAK 
A  FEW  WORDS. 

"Well,  Ygene?" 

"  Well,  master,  aU  is  ready.     The  pipes  are  laid." 
"At  last.     We  can  now  work  at  wholesale  and  on 
the  mass." 


X. 

IN  WHICH  WE  SEE  HOW  THE  EPIDElVnC  SPREAD  THROUGH- 
OUT THE  TOWTf,  AND  THE  EFFECT  IT  PRODUCED. 

During  the  ensuing  month,  the  evil,  far  from  de- 
creasing, grew.    From  private  houses  it  spread  through 


88  DR.    OX-S   nOBBY. 

street  after  street.  The  cit}-  of  Quiquendone  "was  no 
longer  recognizable. 

A  still  more  curious  phenomenon  was,  that  not  only 
the  animal,  but  the  vegetable  kingdom  partook  of  this 
influence. 

In  the  ordinary  run  of  affairs,  epidemics  are  special. 
Those  that  attack  man  spare  beasts :  those  that 
attack  beasts  spare  vegetables.  No  one  ever  saw  a 
horse  with  the  varioloid,  or  a  man  with  the  cattle- 
plague  ;  and  sheep  never  take  the  potato-rot.  But 
here  all  natural  laws  seemed  reversed.  Not  only  were 
the  character,  temperament,  and  ideas  of  the  people  of 
Quiquendone  affected,  but  all  domestic  animals,  dogs, 
cats,  horses,  cattle,  goats,  and  sheep,  felt  the  epidemic 
influence  as  if  the  very  air  thej-  breathed  had  been  in- 
fected. The  plants  themselves  "  made  free,"  if  we 
ma}'  use  such  an  expression. 

For  most  singular  s^'mptoms  were  manifested  in  gar- 
den and  orchard.  Creepers  crept  more  boldl}'  than 
ever.  Bushy  plants  grew  bushier.  Shrubs  became 
trees.  Grain,  hardly  planted,  thrust  up  little  green 
shoots,  and  grew  an  inch  for  oxoxy  atom  it  had  gained 
before  in  the  most  favorable  times.  Asparagus  grew 
two  feet  tall.  Ai'tichokes  were  big  as  melons,  melons 
big  as  s(|uashes,  squashes  big  as  pumpkins,  pumpkins 
big  as  the  town-clock,  which  was  nine  good  feet  in 
diameter.  Cabbages  grew  to  bushes,  and  mushrooms  to 
umbrellas.     The  fpuits  were  not  lono;  in  following  the 


DR.    OX'S   nOBBT.  89 

vegetables'  example.  It  took  two  to  eat  a  stra'wberry, 
and  four  to  eat  a  pear.  The  clusters  of  grapes  equalled 
that  famous  cluster  so  beautifully  painted  b}'  Poussin 
in  his  "  Return  of  EnY03-s  from  the  Promised  Land." 

The  same  with  the  flowers.  Huge  violets  filled  the 
air  with  penetrating  odoi's  ;  exaggerated  roses  glowed 
with  deepest  tints ;  lilacs  formed  an  impenetrable 
thicket  in  a  few  days ;  geraniums,  daisies,  dahlias, 
camellias,  and  rhododendrons,  invading  the  garden 
walks,  fairl}'  choked  each  other  out.  And  the  tulips, 
the  jo}'  of  the  Flemish  heart,  —  what  emotions  they 
roused  in  amatem's  !  Good  Van  Bistrom  nearl}'  fainted 
one  da}',  when  he  found  in  his  garden  a  plain  Tulipa 
gesneriana,  so  monstrous,  so  enormous,  so  gigantic,  that 
it  served  as  a  nest  for  a  whole  family  of  robins. 

The  entire  town  ran  after  this  phenomenal  blossom, 
and  gave  it  the  name  of  Tulipa  Qiiiquendonia. 

But,  alas  !  visibly  as  these  plants,  fruits,  and  flowers 
gi'ew,  colossal  proportions  as  these  vegetables  assumed, 
overpowering  as  their  scent  and  color  were  to  ej'es  and 
noses,  the}'  soon  faded.  The  air  that  nourished  them 
consimied  them  quickly  ;  and  they  died  exhausted  and 
withered. 

Such  was  the  fate  of  the  famous  tulip,  which  fell, 
after  a  few  days  of  splendor. 

The  same  was  true  of  tame  animals,  from  the  house- 
dog to  the  pig  in  his  st}*,  from  the  caged  canar}-  to  the 
turkey  in  the  poultrj'-yard. 

8* 


90  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

It  must  here  be  said,  that,  in  former  days,  these 
creatures  were  no  less  phlegmatic  than  their  masters. 
Dogs  and  cats  vegetated  rather  than  lived.  Never  a 
quiver  of  pleasure,  never  a  movement  of  rage.  Their 
tails  stirred  no  more  than  if  they'd  been  made  of 
bronze.  Not  a  bite  nor  a  scratch  had  been  known  from 
time  immemorial.  As  for  mad  dogs,  they  were  con- 
sidered beasts  of  fiction,  and  ranked  with  griffins  and 
such  in  the  Apocalj-ptic  menagerie. 

But,  during  the  few  months  whose  slightest  incident 
we  have  striven  to  reproduce,  what  a  change !  Dogs 
and  cats  began  to  ■^how  their  teeth  and  theii-  claws. 
There  were  several  executions  after  repeated  attacks. 
For  the  first  time  a  horse  was  seen  to  take  the  bit  be- 
tween his  teeth,  and  gallop  through  the  streets  of  Qui- 
quendone,  an  ox  to  rush  with  lowered  horns  at  his 
master,  an  ass  to  kick  up  his  heels  and  bray  in  St. 
Ernuph  Place  in  a  way  that  had  nothing  ' '  animal " 
about  it,  and  a  sheep,  a  very  sheep,  to  defend  his  chops 
most  valiantly  against  the  butcher's  knife. 

Burgomaster  Van  Tricasse  was  forced  to  issue  cer- 
tain edicts  concerning  domestic  animals  whose  mad- 
ness made  the  streets  so  insecure. 

But,  alas !  if  beasts  were  mad,  man  was  not  much 
better.  No  age  nor  condition  of  life  escaped  the 
plague. 

Babies  soon  became  unendurable,  though  once  so 
docile  ;  and  Judge  Honore  Sj'utax  was  forced  to  take 
the  rod  to  his  youthful  progeii}'. 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  91 

At  scliool  there  was  a  regular  revolt ;  and  diction- 
aries described  strange  tangents  in  the  air.  There  was 
no  restraining  the  scholars  ;  and  the  professors,  them- 
selves excited,  dealt  out  extravagant  punishments. 

Phenomenon  number  two:  the  Quiquendonians, 
hitherto  so  sober,  who  made  whipped  cream  their  chief 
article  of  diet,  now  committed  strange  excesses  in  eating 
and  drinking.  Their  ordinary  bill  of  fare  no  longer  suf- 
ficed. Every  stomach  became  a  yawning  gulf,  which 
must  be  filled.  Expenses  were  tripled.  Instead  of 
two  meals,  they  took  six.  Numerous  indigestions  en- 
sued. Lawyer  Niklausse  could  not  satisfy  his  hunger. 
Burgomaster  Van  Tricasse  could  not  quench  his  thirst, 
and  he  went  about  in  a  continual  state  of  tipsiness. 
Finally,  more  alarming  symptoms  set  in,  and  were  mul- 
tiplied day  by  day. 

Drunkards  were  a  common  sight,  and  among  them 
prominent  citizens. 

Disordered  stomachs,  neuralgias,  and  nervous  trou- 
bles filled  up  Dr.  Custos's  time,  proving  the  high  degree 
of  irritation  to  which  people's  nerves  had  been  sub- 
jected. 

There  were  daily  brawls  and  quarrels  in  the  streets, 
once  deserted,  now  so  thronged ;  for  no  one  could  keep 
at  home. 

A  new  police-force  was  created  to  restrain  these 
breakers  of  the  public  peace. 

A  lock-up  was  arranged  in  the  town-hall,  and  it  was 


92  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

filled  night  and  da}-  with  rebels.  Passauf  was  worn 
out. 

A  marriage  was  concluded  in  less  than  two  months, 
—  an  unheard-of  thing.  Tutor  Eupp's  son  espoused 
Augustine  de  Rorere's  pretty  daughter,  and  that  only 
fift^'-seven  days  after  asking  her  hand  in  marriage. 

Other  marriages  were  decided,  which  would  formerl}- 
have  hung  by  the  hooks  for  j-ears.  The  burgomaster 
could  not  get  over  it ;  and  he  felt  his  daughter,  lovely 
Suzel,  slipping  through  his  fingers. 

As  for  dear  Aunt}'  Nemance,  she  had  ventured  to 
sound  Passauf  on  the  subject  of  a  union,  which  seemed 
to  him  to  combine  mone}-,  good  family,  happiness,  and 
youth. 

Finall}-,  to  heap  the  measure,  a  duel  was  fought. 
Yes,  an  actual  duel,  with  horse-pistols,  at  seventy-five 
paces  !  And  b}'  whom?  Our  readers  could  never  guess. 

By  Mr.  Frantz  Nildausse,  the  gentle  fisherman,  and 
young  Simon  Collaert,  son  of  the  rich  banker. 

And  the  cause  of  the  duel  Avas  the  bm-gomaster's 
own  daughter,  with  whom  Simon  was  desperately  smit- 
ten, aiid  whom  he  vrould  not  yield  to  his  bold  rival. 


XI. 

HOW  THE   QUIQUENDONIANS   TOOK   A   BOLD    KESOLUTION. 

You  see  what  a  pitiable  state  the  people  of  Quiquen- 
done  had  fallen  into.    No  one  would  have  known  them. 


DR.    OX'S  nOBSY.  93 

The  most  peaceful  people  had  grown  quarrelsome.  It 
did  not  do  to  look  sidewaj's  at  them ;  for  the}-  called 
you  out  at  once.  Some  let  their  mustaches  grow  ;  and 
certain  ones,  the  most  warlike,  curled  them  fierce^. 

Under  these  conditions,  it  was  hard  to  maintain 
public  order  ;  for  the  police-force  had  never  been  trained 
to  such  arduous  duties.  The  burgomaster,  that 
worthy  Van  Tricasse  we  once  knew  so  mild,  so  feeble, 
and  incapable  of  taking  any  resolution,  —  the  burgo- 
master was  always  in  a  rage.  The  whole  house  rang 
with  his  voice.  He  issued  twenty  arrests  a  day,  glut- 
ting his  agents,  and  ready  to  execute  justice  himself  if 
need  be. 

Oh,  what  a  change !  Calm  and  tranquU  burgo- 
master's house,  peaceful  Flemish  home,  where  was  j'our 
boasted  comfort  now?  TVTiat  scenes  went  on  there? 
Madame  Van  Tricasse  grew  sour,  whimsical,  and 
greedy.  Her  husband  sometimes  succeeded  in  drown- 
ing her  voice  by  crj'ing  louder  than  she,  but  never 
silenced  her.  Her  angiy  humor  took  offence  at  any 
thing.  Nothing  suited  her.  The  servants  were  good 
for  nothing.  Delays  in  every  thing.  She  blamed 
Lotche,  and  even  Aunty  Nemance,  her  sister-in-law ; 
and  she,  with  no  less  temper,  answered  shai'ply.  Van 
Tricasse,  of  course,  took  Lotche's  part,  as  men  are  apt 
to  do.  Hence  arose  great  exasperation  in  Madame  Van 
Tricasse,  giving  rise  to  discussions,  scenes,  and  cur- 
tain-lectures without  end. 


94  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

"What  ails  us?"  cried  the  wretched  burgomaster. 
"What  fire  consumes  us?  Are  we  possessed  with  a 
devil  ?  Ah,  Madame  Van  Tricasse,  Madame  Van  Tri- 
casse !  yow.  will  kill  me,  and  thus  destroy  the  family 
tradition." 

For  the  reader  must  remember,  that,  according  to  an 
odd  tradition,  Van  Tricasse  must  become  a  widower, 
and  many  again,  or  break  the  chain  of  succession. 

Then,  too,  this  state  of  mind  produced  other  strange 
effects,  which  we  must  not  omit  to  mention  here.  This 
extreme  excitement,  whose  cause  escapes  us  now, 
brought  on  most  unexpected  physiological  changes. 
Talents  hitherto  ignored  now  shone  forth.  Artists 
hitherto  commonplace  now  appeared  in  a  new  light. 
Men  took  to  politics  as  well  as  to  literature.  Orators 
were  formed  b}'  eager  argument,  and  inflamed  an  audi- 
ence, once  far  from  inflammatory,  whenever  they  spoke. 
From  town-meetings,  the  movement  passed  to  other 
assemblies  ;  and  a  club  was  founded  in  Quiquendone, 
while  twenty  journals,  "The  Quiquendone  Signal," 
"  The  Quiquendone  Impartial,"  "  The  Quiquendone 
Radical,"  and  "  The  Quiquendone  ExcessiA^e,"  in  fiery 
leaders,  discussed  a  thousand  social  questions. 

But  to  what  purpose?  you  ask.  To  no  piupose  at 
all.  They  discussed  the  leaning  tower  of  Audenarde, 
which  some  wanted  to  pull  down,  and  some  to  prop  up  ; 
the  arrests  issued  hy  the  town  council,  which  some  hot 
heads  tried  to  resist ;  street-sweepers,  and  bad  drain- 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  95 

age,  &c.  All  -well  enough,  if  the  ardent  orators  had 
kept  to  municipal  affairs.  But,  borne  away  by  the  cur- 
rent, they  -were  to  go  beyond,  and,  if  Providence  had 
not  interyened,  would  hare  urged,  pushed,  and  hur- 
ried their  fellow-beings  into  all  the  dangers  of  war. 

The  fact  was,  that,  eight  or  nine  hundred  j-ears  be- 
fore, Quiquendone  had  pocketed  an  affront  of  the  first 
water ;  but  she  treasured  it  like  some  precious  relic, 
and  there  seemed  some  chance  of  its  spoiling. 

The  cause  of  this  affront  was  as  follows :  — 

It  is  not  generall}'  known  that  Quiquendone  is  a  near 
neighbor  of  the  little  town  of  VLrgamen.  Their  ten-i- 
tories  overlap. 

Now,  in  1185,  some  time  before  Cotmt  Baldwin 
joined  the  crusaders,  a  cow  from  Virgamen,  not  be- 
longing to  an  individual,  but  to  the  town,  mind  you, 
sought  pasture  on  Quiquendonian  ground. 

The  wretched  ruminant  hardly  took  three  mouthfuls  ; 
but  the  crime,  the  insult,  was  conmiitted,  and  duty  set 
forth  in  an  official  report ;  for  in  those  days  lawj-ers 
were  learning  to  write. 

"  "SVe  will  be  revenged  in  due  time,"  simply  said 
Natalis  Van  Tricasse,  thirty-second  predecessor  of  the 
present  bm-gomaster  ;  and  the  Virgaminians  will  make 
nothing  by  the  delaj'." 

The  Vii-gaminians  took  warning.  They  waited,  not 
unreasonably  thinking  that  the  memory  of  the  injury 
would  fade  with  time ;  and  for  several  centuries  they 


96  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

Kved  on  good  terms  with  their  fellows  in  Quiquendone. 
But  they  reckoned  without  their  hosts,  or,  rather,  this 
strange  epidemic,  which  wrought  such  a  radical  change 
in  their  neighbors,  roused  their  sleeping  wrath. 

It  was  at  the  club  in  Eue  Monstrelet  that  the  fierj' 
Schut  thi'ewthe  question  in  his  listeners' faces,  inflamed 
them  by  the  customary  exjiressious  and  metaphors. 
He  recalled  the  insult,  the  wrong  committed  on  Qui- 
quendone Common,  for  which  a  people  "jealous  of 
thch-  rights  "  could  accept  no  apology  ;  he  i^aintcd  the 
injmy  in  glowing  colors  ;  he  spoke  of  certain  gestures 
peculiar  to  the  Virgaminians,  which  showed  the  scorn 
in  which  they  held  Quiquendonians  ;  he  implored  his 
fellow-citizens,  who,  "perhaps  unconsciousl}',"  had 
endured  this  mortal  wrong  for  ages,  he  adjured  the 
"  sons  of  that  ancient  town,"  to  have  no  other  object 
than  to  seek  immediate  reparation.  Finally  he  made 
an  appeal  to  all  the  "able-bodied  men"  of  the 
place. 

You  can  imagine,  though  not  describe,  the  enthusi- 
asm with  which  these  words,  so  new  to  Quiquendonian 
ears,  were  received.  The  whole  audience  rose,  and 
with  outstretched  arnis  loudly  demanded  war.  Never 
had  Lawyer  Schut  won  such  success  ;  and  we  must  ac- 
knowledge that  he  was  verj-  eloquent. 

The  burgomaster,  the  town-councillors,  and  all  the 
prominent  citizens  present  at  this  memorable  meeting, 
might  vainlv  have  striven  to  stem  the  current.     But 


DR.    OX'S  nOBBT.  97 

they  had  no  wish  to  do  so  ;  and,  what  was  more,  they 
cried  quite  as  loudly  as  the  others, — 

"  To  the  frontier.     To  the  frontier  !  " 

Now,  as  the  frontier  was  only  three  miles  from  the 
walls  of  Quiquendone,  the  Virgaminians  were  certainly 
in  great  danger ;  for  they  might  be  invaded  before  they 
knew  it. 

However,  good  apothecary  Josse  Liefrinck,  the  only 
one  who  had  preserved  his  good  sense  in  this  general 
agitation,  showed  them  that  they  lacked  guns,  artillerj', 
and  generals. 

He  was  answered,  not  without  manj-  thumps,  that 
they  could  improvise  guns,  cannon,  and  generals  ;  that 
justice  and  love  of  countr}*  alone  would  render  them 
invincible. 

Thereupon  the  burgomaster  took  up  the  word,  and, 
in  a  glorious  speech,  reproved  those  cowards,  who  dis- 
guised their  fear  under  the  veil  of  prudence,  and  rent 
the  veil  with  patriotic  hand. 

The  hall  actually  rang  with  applause. 

They  shouted  for  the  ballot-box. 

The  ballot  was  taken  amid  general  acclamation,  and 
the  cries  redoubled,  "  To  Virgamen  !  To  Virgamen  !  " 

The  burgomaster  then  agreed  to  set  the  arm}'  in 
motion,  and,  in  the  name  of  the  city,  promised  the  vi;;- 
torious  general  a  triumph  in  the  st^de  of  ancient  Rome. 

But  Josse  Liefrinck,  who  was  an  obstinate  fellow, 
and  who    would    never    acknowledge  himself  beaten, 

9 


1)8  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

though  he  really  was,  ■wished  to  make  one  more  remark. 
He  showed  that  at  Rome  a  trimnph  was  never  granted, 
save  to  a  victorious  general,  who  had  killed  five  thou- 
sand of  the  enemy's  men. 

"  Well,  well !  "  cried  the  eager  crowd. 

And,  as  the  whole  population  of  Yirgamen  does  not 
amount  to  more  than  thi'ee  thousand  five  hundred  and 
seventy-five  people,  that  would  be  rather  difficult,  unlp«% 
they  killed  the  same  person  several  limes  over. 

But  the  unluckj^  logician  was  not  allowed  to  finish, 
but  was  hustled  and  bustled  out  of  the  hall. 

"  Citizens,"  said  Pulmacher,  the  wholesale  grocer,  — 
"  citizens,  in  spite  of  that  cowardl}'  apothecary,  I  will 
engage  to  kill  five  thousand  Virgaminians  myself,  if 
you  will  accept  my  services." 

' '  Five  hundred  thousand !  "  cried  a  more  daring 
patriot. 

' '  Six  hundi-ed  thousand  !  "  screamed  the  grocer. 

"  Seven  hundred  thousand  !  "  shouted  the  confec- 
tioner, Jean  Orbideck,  from  the  Rue  Ilemling,  who  was 
fast  making  a  fortune  in  whipped  creams. 

"  Done !"  cried  Van  Tricasse,  seeing  that  no  one 
took  the  offer  up. 

And  this  was  the  waj'  the  confectioner,  Jean  Orbi- 
deck, came  to  be  made  general-in-chief  of  the  Qui- 
quendonian  forces. 


DR.    OX'S  HOBBY.  99 

XII. 

HOW  ASSISTANT   TGENE    GAVE    A  GOOD  PIECE  OF  ADVICE, 
AND    DR.   OX    REJECTED    IT    ANGRILY. 

"TVell,  master,"  said  assistant  Ygene,  next  clay, 
as  he  poured  bucliets  of  sulphuric-acid  into  huge 
troughs. 

"  Well,"  replied  Dr.  Ox,  "  wasn't  I  right?  You  see 
on  what  hang,  not  onl}-  a  nation's  physical  develop- 
ment, but  its  morality,  dignity,  talent,  and  politics. 
It  is  but  a  question  of  molecules  "  — 

"Doubtless,  but"  — 

"But"  — 

"  Don't  you  think  things  have  gone  quite  far  enough, 
and  that  it's  useless  to  excite  the  poor  devils  any  fur- 
ther." 

"  No,  no  ! "  cried  the  doctor,  "  no  !  I  will  go  on  to 
the  end." 

"  As  3'ou  like,  master ;  but  the  experiment  seems  to 
me  conclusive,  and  I  thinli  it  must  be  time  to  "  — 

"To"  — 

"  To  turn  off  the  stopcock." 

"  Zounds  !"  cried  Dr.  Ox.  '^Take  care  you  don't 
do  it,  or  I'll  choke  you." 


100  DR.    OX'S  BOB  BY. 

XIII. 

HOW  IT  "WAS  ONCE  MORE  PROVED  THAT  FROM  A  LOFTt 
POST  ONE  OVERLOOKS  ALL  HUMAN  MEANNESS. 

"You  sa}'?"  asked  Burgomaster  Van  Tricasse  of 
Lawyer  Niklausse. 

"  I  sa}' that  this  war  mtist  be,"  replied  the  law3-er 
firmly,  ' '  and  that  the  time  has  come  to  avenge  oui' 
wrongs." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  replied  the  burgomaster  sharp- 
ly, "I  tell  j-ou,  that,  if  the  people  of  Quiquendone  do 
not  seize  this  opportunit}'  of  washing  out  such  insults 
in  their  enem3-'s  blood,  they  will  be  unworthy  of  the 
name  the}'  bear." 

"  And  I,  for  m}'  part,  declare  that  our  forces  should 
be  mustered  and  sent  to  the  front  without  delaj-." 

"  Really,  sir,  really  ! "  replied  Van  Tricasse.  "  And 
is  this  the  way  j'ou  talk  to  me  ?  " 

"  To  3'ou,  sir  burgomaster;  and  you  shall  hear  the 
truth  at  any  cost." 

"  And  j'ou  shall  hear  it  j'ourself,  Mr.  Lawj^er,"  cried 
Van  Tricasse  angrily  ;  ' '  for  it  comes  from  m}'  mouth  with 
a  better  gi-ace  than  from  3-ours.  Yes,  sir,  yes  !  delay 
would  be  disgraceful.  The  city  of  Quiquendone  has 
waited  nine  hundred  3-ears  for  its  revenge  ;  and  whatever 
you  may  sa^-,  whether  it  suits  3'ou  or  not,  we  shall 
march  upon  the  enemj-." 

"Oh!  j-ou  take  it  so,  do  you?"  said  Law^-er  Ni- 
klausse  sharply. 


DR.    OX'S   nOBBT.  101 

"  Very  well,  sir !  "We  will  march  without  you,  if  you 
do  not  choose  to  join  us." 

"  A  burgomaster's  post  is  in  the  front  rank,  sir." 

"  So  is  a  cit}'  councillor's,  su-." 

"  Such  contradiction  is  most  insolent,"  cried  the 
burgomaster,  doubling  up  his  fists. 

"  And  your  doubts  of  my  loyalty  are  equally  insolent," 
shouted  Niklausse,  putting  himself  on  the  defensive. 

"  I  tell  3'ou,  sir,  the  Quiquendonian  army  will  take 
up  the  line  of  march  within  two  daj's." 

"  And  I  repeat,  sir,  forty-eight  houi's  shall  not  elapse 
before  we  march  upon  the  enemy." 

It  is  eas}'  to  observe  from  this  fragmentary  conversa- 
tion, that  the  two  men  held  precisel3'  the  same  "V'iews. 
Both  mshed  for  war ;  but,  their  excitement  leading  them 
to  dispute,  Niklausse  did  not  listen  to  Van  Tricasse,  nor 
Van  Tricasse  to  Niklausse.  If  the}-  had  been  of  con- 
trary minds,  if  the  bm-gomaster  had  wanted  war,  and 
the  town  councillor  peace,  they  could  not  have  quar- 
relled more  -violently.  The  two  old  friends  glared 
fiercely  at  each  other.  Their  throbbing  hearts,  red 
faces,  contracted  pupils,  trembling  muscles,  their  very 
voices,  showed  that  they  were  ready  to  fall  on  one 
another. 

But  the  sound  of  a  clock  striking  the  hour,  fortunate- 
ly' arrested  the  combatants  just  as  they  were  coming 
to  blows. 

"  Time  at  last ! "  cried  the  burgomaster. 

9* 


102  DR.    OX'S   nOBBY. 

"  Time  for  what?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  Time  to  go  to  the  belfiy-tower." 

"  So  it  is  ;  and  I  shall  go,  whether  you  like  it  or  not, 
sir." 

"  So  shall  I." 

"Come!" 

"  Come ! " 

These  words  may  make  you  thinlc  that  there  was  to 
be  a  duel,  and  that  the  adversaries  were  now  going  on 
to  the  ground  ;  but  it  was  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  had 
been  agreed  that  the  burgomaster  and  the  lawyer, 
really  the  two  most  prominent  citizens,  should  go  to 
the  guildhall,  mount  the  high  tower  which  surmounted 
it,  and  examine  the  surrounding  countr}^,  that  they 
might  advise  the  most  strategic  measures  for  the  troops. 

Although  the  two  agreed  upon  the  subject,  they  never 
ceased  quarrelling  most  earnestly  as  they  went  up  stairs. 
The  sound  of  their  voices  echoed  thi'ough  the  street ; 
but  the  passers'  nerves  being  strung  to  an  equal  pitch, 
their  anger  was  considered  only  natural,  and  passed 
unnoticed. 

The  burgomaster  and  the  lawyer,  having  gained  the 
belfry-porch,  had  also  reached  the  highest  point  of  fury. 
They  were  no  longer  red,  but  pale.  Their  fearful  dis- 
cussion, in  which  they  were  still  at  accord,  affected  them 
physically ;  and  we  all  know  that  pallor  proves  that  rage 
can  go  no  farther. 

At  the  foot  of  the  narrow  staircase  there  was  a  per- 


DR.    OX'S   nOBBY.  103 

feet  explosion  of  "wrath.  Who  should  go  up  first? 
"Who  should  first  set  foot  on  the  winding  stairs  ?  Truth 
forces  us  to  confess  that  there  was  a  struggle,  and  that 
Lawj'er  Niklausse,  forgetting  all  he  owed  to  liis  su}  e- 
rior,  to  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  city,  pushed  Van 
Tricasse  out  of  the  way,  and  rushed  up  the  dark  stair- 
case first. 

Both  went  up  four  steps  at  a  time,  hurling  most  evil 
epithets  at  each  other.  A  terrible  accident  was  immi- 
nent on  top  of  this  tower,  which  rose  thi'ce  hundred 
and  fifty-seven  feet  above  the  street. 

But  the  two  foes  soon  lost  breath  ;  and  in  a  minute, 
at  the  eightieth  step,  they  walked  heavilj',  breathing 
loudly. 

But  then,  perhaps  from  loss  of  breath  (if  their 
rage  was  not  appeased,  it  was  at  least  abated),  they 
were  silent ;  and,  strange  to  sa}',  their  excitement  de- 
creased as  they  rose  above  the  town.  The  bubbling  of 
their  brains  ceased,  as  coffee  ceases  to  boil  when  taken 
from  the  fire.     Why? 

We  can  make  no  response  to  this  querj^ ;  but  the 
truth  is,  that  on  reaching  a  certain  landing-place,  some 
two  hundred  and  sixty-six  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
town,  the  adversaries  sat  down,  and,  grown  more  calm, 
looked  at  each  other  without  anger. 

"  How  high  up  we  are  ! "  said  the  burgomaster,  mop- 
ping his  rudd}'  face  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  Very  high  up  ! "   replied  the  lawyer.     "  You  know 


104  BR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

we  are  fourteen  feet  liiglier  than  St.  Micliaers  in 
Hamburg  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  burgomaster,  with  an  accent 
of  vanit}' ,  very  pardonable  in  the  first  authority  of  Qui- 
quendone. 

In  a  few  moments  the  two  worthies  resumed  their 
ascent,  casting  a  curious  glance  through  the  loopholes 
pierced  in  the  walls.  The  burgomaster  had  taken  the 
lead,  without  the  least  remai'k  from  the  lawyer.  Van 
Tricasse  being  quite  exhausted  towards  the  three  hun- 
dred and  fourth  step,  Niklausse  even  obligingl}-  pushed 
him  up.  The  burgomaster  let  him  do  it,  and,  when  he 
reached  the  summit,  said  gracious!}-,  — 

"  Thanks,  Niklausse  :  I'll  reward  you  for  that  some 
day." 

Just  before,  they  were  two  wild  beasts  ready  to  tear 
each  other  to  pieces  down  stairs :  now  they  were  two 
friends  on  top. 

The  weather  was  glorious.  It  was  the  month  of 
Ma}-.  The  sun  had  dried  all  moisture.  What  a  pure, 
clear  atmosphere  !  The  eye  could  seize  the  smallest 
objects  for  miles  around.  The}-  saw  the  white  walls  of 
Virgamen,  but  a  few  miles  away,  "with  its  red  roofs,  and 
steeples  glittering  in  the  sun.  And  this  was  the  town 
doomed  in  advance  to  all  the  horrors  of  fire  and  pillage  ! 

The  burgomaster  and  the  law3-er  sat  side  by  side  on 
a  small  stone  bench,  like  two  worthy  men  whose  souls 
are  bound  in  s}'mpathy.  Still  panting,  they  looked 
about.     After  a  pause,  the  burgomaster  cried,  — 


DR.    OX'S  HOBBY.  105 

"  How  lovely  ! '' 

"Yes:  'tis  beautiful,"  said  the  laTV3'er.  "Don't 
5'ou  think,  my  worth}^  friend,  that  mauldnd  was  meant 
to  dwell  on  these  heights,  rather  than  to  crawl  on  the 
crust,  as  it  were,  of  our  sphere  ?  " 

*'  I  quite  agree  with  3'ou,  honest  Niklausse,"  replied 
the  burgomaster,  —  "I  quite  agree  with  you.  We  seize 
the  sentiment  of  Nature  better  here.  We  breathe  it 
in  at  ever}^  pore.  Philosophers  are  formed  on  such 
heights  ;  and  sages  live  here,  remote  from  the  miseries 
of  the  world." 

"Shall  we  walk  round  the  tower?"  asked  the 
lawj-er. 

"  Let  us  walk  round  the  tower,"  said  the  burgo- 
master. 

And  the  two  friends,  arm  in  arm,  and  pausing,  as  of 
yore,  between  their  questions  and  replies,  examined 
ever}'  quarter  of  the  horizon. 

"  It  is  at  least  seventeen  3'ears  since  I  came  to  the 
top  of  the  belfry,"  said  Van  Tricasse. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  came  up  before,"  said  Law3'er 
Niklausse ;  "  and  I'm  ver}'  sorr}-,  for  the  view  is  su- 
perb from  this  height.  Do  you  see,  my  friend,  how 
the  pretty  River  Vaar  winds  tlirough  the  trees  ?  " 

"And  the  heights  of  St.  Hermandad  bej'ond  —  how 
gracefull}'  they  define  the  horizon-line  !  See  that  bor- 
der of  green  trees,  so  picturesquely'  arranged  b}'  Nature. 
Oh,  Nature's  the  girl  for  me,  Niklausse !  The  hand 
of  man  can  never  contend  with  her." 


106  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

"  It  is  enchanting,  m}'  excellent  friend,"  replied  the 
lawyer.  "  Just  look  at  those  cattle  pastured  in  green 
fields,  those  oxen,  cows,  and  sheep  "  — 

"And  those  laborers  on  their  way  to  work.  "Wc 
might  take  them  for  Arcadian  shepherds,  if  they  only 
had  bagpipes." 

'*  And  over  all  this  fertile  couutr}-,  a  cloudless  sky. 
Ah,  Niklausse  !  I  could  become  a  poet  here.  Sta}^,  I 
do  not  see  wh}'  St.  Simon  Stylites  was  not  one  of  the 
greatest  poets  in  the  world." 

"  Perhaps  his  column  was  not  high  enough,"  replied 
the  councillor,  smiling. 

At  this  moment  the  chimes  of  Quiquendone  began 
to  ring.  The  limpid  bells  played  one  of  their  sweetest 
airs.     The  two  friends  were  in  an  eestas}'. 

Then  the  burgomaster  said  in  his  calm  A'oice,  — 

"  VThy,  friend  Niklausse,  what  did  we  come  up  here 
for?" 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  We  are  let- 
ting oiu'  di'eams  carry  us  away." 

"What  did  we  come  up  here  for?"  repeated  the 
burgomaster. 

"  We  came,"  said  Niklausse,  "  to  breathe  this  pure 
air,  untainted  by  human  vice." 

"Well,  shall  we  go  down  again,  Niklausse?" 

"  Let  us  go  down,  friend  Van  Tricasse." 

The  two  worthies  cast  one  last  glance  at  the  splen- 
did panorama  unrolled  before  them ;  then  the  burgo- 


DR.    OX'S   HOBBY.  107 

master  took  the  lead,  and  went  down  ■with  slow  and 
measured  steps.  The  lawyer  followed  a  few  paces  he- 
hind  him.  They  reached  the  landing-place  at  which 
they  had  halted  as  they  came  up.  Already  their 
cheeks  began  to  flush.  They  paused  an  instant,  and 
continued  their  descent. 

Soon  Van  Tricasse  begged  Niklausse  to  moderate 
his  pace ;  for  he  trod  on  his  heels,  and  "it  anuo^'cd 
him." 

It  did  more  than  annoy  him ;  for,  twenty  steps 
lower,  he  ordered  the  law^-er  to  stop,  and  let  him  get  a 
little  ahead. 

The  law^-er  replied,  that  he  did  not  care  to  stand  with 
one  leg  in  the  air,  waiting  the  burgomaster's  conven- 
ience, and  went  on. 

Van  Tricasse  replied  by  some  hard  words. 

The  lawj-er  rejoined  with  a  cutting  allusion  to  the 
burgomaster's  age  ;  he  being  destined,  by  family  tradi- 
tion, to  a  second  marriage. 

The  burgomaster  descended  twenty  steps  more,  tell- 
ing Nilvlausse  plainly  that  this  should  not  occur  again. 

Niklausse  replied  that  he  would  pass  at  anj-  risk ; 
and,  the  staircase  being  very  naiTOw,  a  struggle  took 
place  in  the  most  profound  darkness.  "Boob}'"  and 
"blockhead"  were  the  mildest  epithets  exchanged. 

"  We  shall  see,  j'ou  beast !  "  cried  the  burgomaster, 
—  "we  shall  see,  what  sort  of  a  figure  j'ou'U  cut  in  the 
war,  and  what  rank  you'll  march  in." 


108  DR.    OX'S   BOBBY. 

"  lu  the  raiilv  before  you,  fool !  "  replied  Niklausse. 

Then  came  louder  cries,  and  a  heavy  fall. 

What  had  happened  ?  "What  had  caused  this  sudden 
change  ?  Why  were  the  lambs  of  the  summit  turned 
to  tigers  two  hundred  feet  lower  down? 

However  it  rasiy  have  been,  the  tower-keeper,  hearing 
such  a  noise,  opened  the  door  just  as  the  well-bruised 
foes,  with  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets,  were  trjang 
to  tear  each  other's  hair  out,  though,  luckilj',  both  wore 
wigs. 

"  You  shall  give  me  satisfaction  for  this  !  "  screamed 
the  burgomaster,  shaking  his  fists  under  his  adversary's 
nose. 

"  Whenever  3'ou  like,"  howled  Lawj-er  Niklausse, 
threatening  to  kick  him. 

The  keeper,  who  was  put  out  himself,  —  I  don't 
know  why,  —  thought  this  angry  scene  most  natiu'al. 
I  know  not  what  personal  feeling  led  him  to  meddle  in 
the  matter ;  but  he  hurried  out,  and  reported  every- 
where that  a  duel  would  soon  take  place  between  Bur- 
gomaster Van  Tricasse  and  Lawj'cr  Niklausse. 


DR.    OX'S  HOBBY.  109 

XIV. 

HOW  THINGS  NOW  REACHED  SUCH  A  POINT,  THAT  THE 
PEOPLE  OF  QUIQUENDONE,  OUR  READERS,  AND  EVEN 
THE  AUTHOR,  INSISTED  UPON  AN  IMMEDIATE  EXPLA- 
NATION. 

This  last  incident  proves  the  pitch  of  exaltation  to 
which  the  Quiqucndonians  had  risen.  For  the  two 
oldest  friends  in  town,  and  the  two  gentlest  before 
this  evil  set  in,  to  gi'ow  so  violent,  and  that,  too,  so 
soon  after  their  former  sjinpathy,  their  amiable  in- 
stincts, their  contemplative  mood,  had  returned  to  them 
on  top  of  the  tower ! 

Dr.  Ox  could  not  restrain  his  delight  on  hearing 
what  had  happened.  He  resisted  all  the  prayers  of 
his  assistant,  who  feared  that  things  were  taking  a 
dangerous  turn.  Besides,  they  both  felt  the  general 
excitement.  They  were  no  less  unnaturally  nervous 
than  the  rest ;  and  the}'  began  to  quarrel  as  fast  as 
the  burgomaster  and  the  lawj-er. 

With  these  latter,  one  question  outweighed  all  others, 
and  caused  them  to  defer  their  duel  i^ntil  the  Virga- 
minian  question  was  settled.  No  one  had  a  right  to 
shed  his  blood  uselessly,  when,  to  the  very  last  drop,  it 
belonged  to  his  dishonored  country. 

Things  looked  very  black  indeed,  and  there  was  no 
stepping  back. 

Burgomaster  Van  Tricasse,  in  spite  of  all  his  war- 


110  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

lilce  ardor,  tlioiiglit  it  would  be  wi'oug  to  take  the  enemj 
by  surprise.  He  therefore  warned  them,  through  the 
town-crier,  Master  Hottering,  to  prepare  to  give  satis- 
faction for  the  trespass  committed  in  1195  on  Quiquen- 
donian  ground. 

The  authorities  of  Virgamen  could  not  at  first  ima- 
gine what  he  meant ;  and  the  town-crier,  despite  his 
official  character,  was  somewhat  cayalierly  dismissed. 

Van  Tricasse  then  sent  an  aide-de-cami^  from  the 
camp  of  the  confectioner-general,  citizen  Hildevert 
Shuman,  manufacurer  of  barley-sugar,  a  very  firm  and 
energetic  fellow",  who  handed  the  Yirgaminian  authori- 
ties a  copy  of  the  official  report  made  in  1195  b}'  order 
of  the  Burgomaster  Natalis  Van  Tricasse. 

The  Virgaminian  authorities  burst  out  laughing,  and 
treated  the  aide-de-camp  just  as  they  did  the  crier. 

The  burgomaster  then  assembled  the  principal  citi- 
zens ;  a  most  clear  and  forcible  letter  was  prepared ; 
the  casus  belli  was  plainl}'  set  forth  ;  and  twenty -four 
hours'  dela}'  was  gi-auted  the  guilt}'  cit^',  in  which  to 
repair  the  outrage  done  to  Quiquendone. 

The  letter  w^nt,  and  returned,  some  hours  after,  torn 
to  tatters,  which  formed  new  insults.  The  Virgamin- 
ians  knew  the  Quiquendouians'  forbearance  of  old  ;  and 
they  scoffed  at  them,  their  challenge,  and  their  casus 
belli. 

There  was  but  one  thing  left  to  do,  —  to  leave  it  to  the 
decision  of  arms,  invoke  the  God  of  battle,  and,  accord- 


DR.    OX'S    HOBBY.  Ill 

iug  to  Prassiau  precedent,  to  fall  upon  tlie  Virgaminians 
before  the}-  were  read}-. 

War  was  therefore  proclaimed.  General  Jean  Orbi- 
deck  assembled  his  forces,  saj'  2,393  soldiers,  for  a  popu- 
lation of  2,393  souls.  "Women,  childi-en,  and  old  men 
had  joined  the  ranks  of  the  able-bodied.  Every  thing 
that  was  sharp  or  blunt  became  a  weapon.  The  city 
arms  were  taken  into  use.  Five  guns  had  been  discov- 
ered, two  of  them  triggerless,  and  had  been  distributed 
among  the  vanguard.  The  artillery  consisted  of  the  old 
castle  culverin,  taken  in  1339  at  the  siege  of  Quesnoy, 
—  one  of  the  first  cannon  mentioned  in  history,  and 
which  had  not  been  fired  for  five  hundred  jears.  Thej' 
had  no  ])alls  for  it  either,  luckily  for  the  gimners  ;  but, 
such  as  it  was,  the  machine  might  j'et  awe  the  enem}'. 
As  for  side-anns,  they  had  been  taken  from  the  mu- 
seum of  antiquities,  —  fiint  hatchets,  helmets,  shields, 
battle-axes,  halberds,  partisans,  verderers,  rapiers,  &c,, 
— as  well  as  from  those  private  arsenals,  generall}-  known 
as  kitchens  and  pantries.  But  corn-age,  a  good  cause, 
hatred  of  the  enem}-,  a  thirst  for  revenge,  would  take 
the  place  of  more  perfect  weapons,  and  render  unneces- 
sary —  at  least  the}'  hoped  so  —  modern  needle-gims 
and  breech-loading  cannon. 

A  review  was  held.  Not  a  citizen  failed  to  answer  to 
the  roll-call.  Gen.  Orbideck,  hardly  stead}-  on  his  horse, 
which  was  an  ill-tempered  beast,  fell  ofi"  three  times  in 
full  view  of  the  ai-my  ;  but  he  got  up  again  unwounded. 


112  DR.    OX'S  HOBBY. 

which  was  considered  a  very  favorable  omen.  The  bur- 
gomaster, the  law3-er,  commissar3'-civil,  chief  justice, 
tutor,  banker,  minister,  in  fine,  all  the  notables  in  town, 
marched  at  the  head.  Not  a  tear  was  shed  by  their 
mothers,  sisters,  wives,  or  daughters.  The}^  urged 
their  husbands,  fathers,  sons,  and  brothers  on  to  battle, 
and  even  followed  them,  forming  a  rear-guard  com- 
manded by  brave  Madame  Van  Tricasse. 

The  town-crier's  trumpet  sounded ;  the  army  was  set 
in  motion,  and,  uttering  fierce  cries,  turned  towards 
Audenarde  Gate. 

Just  as  the  head  of  the  column  left  the  city  limits,  a 
man  rushed  before  them. 

"Stop,  stop,  madmen  that  j-ou  are!"  he  cried. 
"Suspend  your  blows.  Let  me  close  the  stopcock. 
You  are  not  thirsting  for  blOod.  You  are  good,  quiet 
citizens.  If  3'ou  burn  in  this  way,  it  is  mj'  master's. 
Dr.  Ox's,  fault.  It  was  an  experiment.  Under  pre- 
text of  lighting  3'our  streets  with  oxhych-ic  gas,  he 
filled"  — 

The  assistant  was  beside  himself;  but  he  could  not 
conclude.  Just  as  Dr.  Ox's  secret  was  escaping  from 
his  lips,  Dr.  Ox  himself,  with  indescribable  fury,  fell 
upon  unhappy  Ygene,  and  closed  his  mouth  with  blows. 

It  was  a  pitched  battle.  The  burgomaster,  the  law- 
yer, and  those  worthies  who  had  paused  on  seeing  Ygene, 
carried  away,  in  turn,  by  anger,  fell  upon  the  new-com- 


DR.    OX'S   HOB  BY.  113 

ers,  listening  to  neither  side.  Dr.  Ox  and  his  assist- 
ant, beaten  and  bruised,  Tvere  just  being  dragged  to 
jail  by  Van  Tricasse's  order,  when  — 


XV. 

IN  "WHICH   THE   EXPLANATION   BURSTS   UPON  TOU. 

—  When  a  loud  noise  was  heard.  The  whole  air 
about  Quiqnendone  seemed  in  a  blaze.  A  flame  of 
wonderful  intensit}'  darted  like  a  meteor  to  the  very 
zenith.  If  it  had  been  night,  the  glare  would  have 
been  visible  for  ten  leagues  around. 

The  whole  army  of  Quiqnendone  fell  to  their  knees 
like  an  army  of  monks.  Fortunately,  there  was  not  a 
single  victim ;  some  scorches  and  a  few  bruises,  that 
was  all.  The  confectioner,  who  by  chance  had  not 
fallen  off  his  horse,  had  his  feather  singed,  and  escaped 
without  further  injur}-. 

What  had  happened  ? 

Quite  simply,  as  they  afterwards  learned,  the  gas- 
works had  blown  up.  During  the  absence  of  the  doc- 
tor and  his  assistant,  some  imprudence  had  doubtless 
been  committed.  Xo  one  knew  how  or  why  communi- 
cation was  established  between  the  ox3-gen  tank  and 
the   hydrogen   tank.     The  union  of   these  tAvo  gases 

10* 


114  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

formed  an  explosive  mixture,  which  had  accidentally 
caught  fire. 

This  put  a  new  face  on  affairs  ;  but,  when  the  army 
rose,  Dr.  Ox  and  his  assistant  Ygene  were  gone. 


XVI. 

IN  "WniCn  THE  INTELLIGENT  READER  LEARNS  THAT  HE 
GUESSED  THE  TRUTH,  IN  SPITE  OF  ALL  THE  AUTHOR'S 
PRECAUTIONS. 

After  the  explosion,  Quiquendone  immediatel}'  be- 
came the  same  peaceful,  phlegmatic,  Flemish  city  that 
it  was  before. 

After  the  explosion,  which,  moreover,  caused  no  very 
deep  emotion,  each  one,  unconsciously  and  mechani- 
calh%  turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  home,  —  the 
burgomaster  leaning  on  the  town  councillor,  Law3'er 
Schut  on  Dr.  Gustos,  Frantz  Niklausse  on  his  rival 
Simon  Collaert,  quietl}',  silentlj',  without  a  memory  of 
past  events,  already  oblivious  of  Virgamen  and  ven- 
geance. The  general  returned  to  his  confectionery- 
shop,  and  his  aide-de-camp  to  his  barle3'-sugar. 

Calmness  returned ;  all  resumed  their  customary 
course,  —  men  and  beasts,  beasts  and  plants,  all  but 
Audenarde  Tower,  which  the  ex^Dlosion  (these  exjDlo- 


DR.    OX'S  BOBBY.  115 

sions  are  queer  things) ,  —  which  the  explosion  had  set 
up  again. 

And  from  that  time  forth  a  loud  word,  a  discussion, 
was  never  heard  in  the  town  of  Quiquendone.  Xo 
more  po'itics,  no  more  clubs,  no  more  lawsuits,  no 
more  policemen.  Commissary  Passauf's  office  began 
to  prove  a  sinecure  ;  and,  if  his  salary  was  not  cut 
short,  it  was  only  because  the  lawj-er  and  the  burgo- 
master could  not  decide  to  come  to  a  decision  about  it. 
Besides,  from  time  to  time,  he  still  floated,  without  ever 
suspecting  it,  thi-ough  kind  Auntj"  Nemance's  dreams. 

As  for  Frantz's  rival,  he  generously  yielded  fair 
Suzel  to  her  lover,  who  hastened  to  marry  her  five  or 
six  years  later. 

And,  as  for  Madame  Van  Tricasse,  she  died  ten 
years  after,  in  due  time ;  and  the  burgomaster  married 
Mademoiselle  Pelagic  Van  Tricasse,  his  cousin,  under 
excellent  conditions  —  for  the  happy  man  who  should 
succeed  him. 


XVII. 

IN  WHICH   DR.    ox's   THEORY  IS   EXPLAINED. 

I5uT  what  did  this  mysterious  Dr.  Ox  do?    Tried  an 
odd  experiment,  nothing  more. 

Having  laid  his  gas-pipes,  he  filled  the  public  build- 


116  DR.    OX'S   HOBBY. 

ings,  then  private  houses,  and  finally  the  streets  of 
Qiiiqueudone,  with  pure  oxygen  without  a  particle 
of  hj'drogen. 

This  tasteless,  odorless  gas,  filling  the  air  in  such 
quantities,  causes,  when  breathed,  most  singular  or- 
ganic disturbances.  B}'  living  in  a  mediiun  soaked 
with  oxygen,  you  are  excited,  super-excited,  inflamed. 

On  returning  to  ordinary  air,  you  become  your  for- 
mer self:  witness  the  case  of  the  bui'gomaster  and 
lawyer,  when  the}^  found  themselves  on  the  tower's  top, 
in  respirable  air,  the  weight  of  the  oxj-gen  keeping  it 
among  lower  strata. 

But  then,  too,  living  under  such  conditions,  breathing 
this  gas,  which  transforms  body  as  well  as  soul,  death 
soon  ensues,  as  in  the  case  of  those  fools  who  lead  a 
"  fast  life." 

It  was  well  for  the  Quiquendonians  that  a  providen- 
tial explosion  closed  this  dangerous  experiment,  by 
crushing  Dr.  Ox's  laborator}-. 

After  all,  and  to  conclude,  are  virtue,  coui'age,  talent, 
wit,  imagination,  all  good  qualities  and  faculties,  only 
a  question  of  ox\'gen  ? 

Such  was  Dr.  Ox's  theor}'.  But  we  have  a  right  to 
contest  it ;  and,  for  our  part,  we  utterl}*  reject  it,  in 
spite  of  the  strange  experiment  tried  m  the  good  town 
of  Quiquendone. 


"Master  Zachaiy,  wild  willi  joy,  was  about  to  seize  tlie  clock, 
when  a  hideous  peal  of  laughter  rang  out  behind  him." 

Page  161. 


MASTER  ZACHARY. 


I. 

A   "WTNTER   NIGHT. 


r  I  ^HE  city  of  Geneva  lies  on  tlie  western  shore  of  the 
-■-  lake  to  which  it  gives  or  owes  its  name.  The 
Rhone,  which  crosses  it  on  issuing  from  the  lake,  divides 
it  into  two  distinct  parts,  and  is  itself  divided  in  the 
centre  of  the  city,  bj-  an  island  midwu}-  Ijetween  its  two 
shores.  This  topographic  position  is  often  reproduced 
in  gi'eat  centres  of  commerce  and  industry.  Doubt- 
less the  fii'st  settlers  were  tempted  b}'  the  easy  trans- 
port offered  by  the  rapid  branches  of  the  river,  ' '  those 
roads  which  walk  alone,"  as  Pascal  called  them.  In 
the  Rhone,  the  roads  run. 

At  a  date  when  no  new  and  commodious  dwellings 
stood  upon  that  island,  anchored  midflood,  like  a  Dutch 
galleon,  the  wonderful  pile  of  houses,  climbing  one 
above  the  other,  afforded  the  eye.  a  view  full  of  charm- 
ing confusion.     The  small  extent  of  the  island  forced 

117 


118  MASTER   ZACBARY. 

some  of  these  constinictions  to  perch  on  piles,  dri-^en 
helter-skelter  into  the  rough  bed  of  the  Rhone.  These 
huge  joists,  black  with  age,  worn  b}'  the  waves,  looked 
like  immense  crab's  claws,  and  produced  an  odd  effect. 
A  few  yellowish  threads,  real  spiders'-webs,  stretched 
across  this  ancient  substructure,  waved  to  and  fro  in 
the  shadow,  like  the  leaves  of  old  oaks  ;  and  the  stream 
flowing  through  the  forest  of  piles,  foamed  and  frothed 
with  melancholy  groans. 

One  of  these  island  dwellings  struck  you  at  once  by 
its  look  of  rare  old  age.  It  was  the  home  of  the  old 
clockmaker,  Master  Zachar}',  his  daughter  Gerande, 
Aubert  Thiin,  his  apprentice,  and  his  old  servant-maid, 
Scholastique. 

What  a  strange  man  Zacharj'  was !  His  age  was 
unknown.  The  oldest  inhabitant  of  Geneva  could  not 
say  how  long  his  withered  head  had  shaken  on  his 
shoulders,  nor  when  he  was  first  seen  walking  through 
the  citj'  streets,  his  long  white  hair  floating  on  the 
wind.  The  man  did  not  live :  he  vibrated,  like  the 
pendulum  of  one  of  his  clocks.  His  dry,  cadaverous 
face  was  sombre-hued.  Like  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  pic- 
tures, he  had  turned  black  with  age. 

Gerande  dwelt  in  the  prettiest  room  in  the  old  house, 
where,  through  a  np,iTow  window,  her  gaze  fell  sadly 
on  the  snowy  jjeaks  of  Jura ;  but  the  old  man's  bed- 
room and  work-room  were  in  a  sort  of  cellar,  almost  on 
a  level  with  the  river,  the  floor  resting  on  the  piles. 


MASTEH  ZACIIARY.  119 

From  time  unmemontil,  Master  Zacliarj'  went  out  at 
meal-times  onlj-,  and  when  called  to  regulate  the  cit}' 
clocks.  He  spent  the  rest  of  his  time  at  a  bench 
covered  with  various  horological  tools,  most  of  which 
he  had  himself  invented. 

For  he  was  a  skilful  man.  His  works  were  highly 
prized  thi'oughout  France  and  German}'.  The  most 
industrious  workmen  in  Geneva  publicl}'  acknowledged 
his  superiority ;  and  he  was  an  honor  to  the  city,  to  be 
pointed  out  with  the  words,  — 

"  He  discovered  the  'scapement !  " 

And  in  fact,  from  this  invention,  which  Zachar3''s 
labors  will  make  plain  to  you  later,  modern  watclunak- 
ing  dates  its  birth. 

After  working  long  and  carefully,  Zachary  would  put 
his  tools  slowly  away,  cover  the  delicate  bits  he  had 
just  adjusted  with  small  bell-glasses,  and  stop  his  busy 
wheel.  Then  he  would  raise  a  trap-door  cut  in  the 
floor,  and  there  for  hours,  while  the  Rhone  rushed 
uoisil}-  beneath,  he  would  kneel,  and  gi'ow  giddy  over 
its  fogg}'  vapors. 

One  winter  evening  old  Scholastique  serA^ed  up 
supper,  which,  according  to  ancient  custom,  she  shared 
with  the  young  apprentice.  Although  carefullj'-dressed 
meats  were  oflered  in  fine  blue-and-white  dishes.  Mas- 
ter Zachai'}'  would  not  eat.  He  hardly  answered  the 
gentle  words  of  Gerande,  who  was  e'vidently  distressed 
by  her  father's  taciturnity  ;  and  Scholastique's  chatter 


120  MASTER   ZACnARY. 

affected  him  no  more  than  the  murmur  of  the  river. 
After  this  silent  meal,  the  old  watchmaker  rose  from 
table  without  kissing  his  daughter,  or  bidding  an}'  one 
the  customary'  good-night.  He  vanished  through  the 
narrow  door  that  led  to  his  den  ;  and  the  staircase 
creaked  loudl}'  beneath  his  heavj-  steps. 

Gerande,  Aubert,  and  Scholastique  did  not  speak 
for  some  moments.  The  weather  was  gloomy  that 
night ;  clouds  hung  heavily  over  the  Alps,  and  threat- 
ened to  fall  in  rain ;  the  harsh  Swiss  atmosphere  filled 
the  soul  with  sorrow ;  while  the  south  wind  howled 
about,  and  whistled  shrill}'. 

"  Haven't  you  noticed,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said 
Scholastique  at  last,  "  that  our  master  has  been  quite 
upset  for  several  days  ?  Holy  Virgin  !  I  can  under- 
stand his  not  being  hungry  ;  for  his  words  have  stuck  in 
his  stomach,  and  it  would  take  a  pretty  smart  fellow  to 
di'aw  one  forth." 

"  My  father  has  some  secret  cause  for  sorrow,  which 
even  I  cannot  guess,"  replied  Gerande,  anxiety 
marked  in  every  feature. 

"  Don't  give  way  to  grief,  miss.  You  know  what 
odd  habits  Master  Zachary  has.  Who  can  read  his 
secret  thoughts?  Some  care,  doubtless,  oppresses  him, 
but  by  to-morrow  he  will  have  forgotten  it,  and  will 
sincerely  repent  distressing  his  daughter." 

Thus  spoke  Aubert,  gazing  into  Gerande's  lovely  eyes. 
Aubert  was  the  only  workman  whom  Master  Zachary 


Jf ASTER   ZACIIARY.  121 

had  ever  admitted  to  all  Ms  secrets  ;  for  he  appreciated 
his  intelligence,  discretion,  and  goodness  of  soul. 
Aubert  loved  Geraude  with  rare  faith  and  devotion. 

Gerande  was  eighteen.  Her  oval  face  recalled  those 
simple  Madonnas  still  suspended  by  pious  worshipj/ers 
at  street-corners  in  old  cities  of  Brittany.  Her  e3-es 
breathed  infinite  simplicity  and  tenderness.  She  was 
lovable  as  a  poet's  sweetest  dream.  She  never  wore 
gay  colors ;  and  the  white  kerchief  folded  across  her 
shoulders  had  the  tint  and  odor  peculiar  to  ecclesiasti- 
cal vestments.  She  lived  the  life  of  a  m^'stic  in  this 
cit}'  of  Geneva,  as  j-et  free  from  the  bonds  of  Cahinism. 

Now,  as  Gc'rande  read  her  Latin  prayers  at  morn- 
ing and  evening  in  her  u-on-bound  missal,  she  divined 
the  feeling  hidden  in  Aubert  Thiiu's  heart,  and  read 
his  devotion  for  her.  And  indeed,  in  his  e^'es,  the  whole 
world  was  contained  in  the  old  watchmaker's  house ; 
and  he  spent  all  his  time  with  the  young  giii,  when, 
work  done,  he  left  her  father's  worki'oom. 

Old  Scholastique  looked  on,  but  said  nothing.  She 
prefeiTed  to  exercise  her  tongue  on  the  miseries  of  the 
age  and  household  cares.  They  never  tried  to  hush 
her.  She  was  like  one  of  those  musical  snuff-boxes 
made  in  Geneva,  —  once  wound  up,  the}'  must  pla}- 
their  repertory  through,  or  break. 

Finding  Gerande  so  sad  and  silent,  Scholastique 
rose  from  her  old  wooden  chair,  stuck  a  wax  candle 
into  a  candlestick,  lighted  it,  and  placed  it  before  a 
11 


122  MASTER   ZACBART. 

small  wax  %'irgin  in  a  stone  niclie.  Usual!}',  all  knelt 
before  this  protecting  saint  of  the  domestic  hearth,  to 
beg  her  to  watch  over  them  through  the  coming  night ; 
but  this  evening  Gcraude  sat  still. 

"  "Well,  my  dear  3'oung  lady,"  said  Scholastique  in 
surprise,  "  supper  is  done  ;  and  'tis  the  hour  for  evening 
prayer.  Why  wear  yowc  eyes  out  with  unaccustomed 
vigils?  0  holy  virgin!  better  sleep,  and  find  peace 
in  pleasant  dreams.  In  this  wretched  age,  who  can 
feel  sure  of  a  single  happy  day  ?  " 

"  Ought  we  not  call  in  a  physician  for  my  father?'' 
asked  Gerande. 

"  A  physician  ! "  cried  the  old  servant.  "Did  Master 
Zachary  ever  pay  heed  to  doctors'  whims  and  prescrip- 
tions? He  says  you  can  phj'sic  watches,  but  not 
human  bodies." 

' '  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  murmured  Gerande.  ' '  Has  he 
gone  back  to  work  ?     Has  he  gone  to  bed  ?  " 

"Gerande,"  said  Aubert  gentl}-,  "  sometliing  dis- 
turbs Master  Zachary's  mind  ;  and  that  is  all  that  ails 
him." 

"  Do  3'ou  know  what  it  is,  Aubert?" 

"  Perhaps,  Gerande." 

"Tell  us,  then,"  cried  Scholastique,  economically 
blowing  out  the  candle. 

"  A  few  days  ago,  Gerande,"  said  the  young  appren- 
tice, "an  incomprehensible  thing  occurred,  —  all  the 
watches  yom-  father  has  made  and  sold  for  manj'  years 


MASTER   ZACnARY.  123 

suddenl}'  stopped :  au}'  number  were  brought  back. 
He  took  them  carefully-  to  pieces  :  the  springs  were  in 
good  order,  and  the  wheels  all  right.  He  put  them 
together  again  still  more  carefully  ;  but,  spite  of  all  his 
skill,  he  cannot  make  them  go." 

"  The  Devil  is  in  it !  "  cried  Scholastique. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  said  Gerande.  "  It  seems 
very  natural  to  me.  There's  an  end  to  ever}'  thing  on 
earth :  the  hand  of  man  can  produce  nothing  eternal." 

"It  is  nevertheless  true,"  replied  Aubert,  "that 
there  is  something  strange  and  m3'sterious  about  it. 
I  helped  Master  Zachary  myself  to  search  for  the 
cause  of  the  disturbance  :  I  could  not  find  it,  and  more 
than  once  I  di'opped  m}'  tools  in  despair." 

"Gracious  me!"  said  Scholastique,  "what's  the 
use  of  all  that  work?  How  can  you  expect  a  little 
copper  instrument  to  go  alone,  and  mark  the  houi's  ? 
The}'  ought  to  have  kept  to  the  sun-dial." 

"  You  would  not  talk  so,  Scholastique,"  replied  Au- 
bert, "if  3'ou  knew  that  the  sundial  was  invented  by 
Cain." 

"  Good  heavens  !     WTio  taught  you  that?  " 

"Do  you  suppose,"  said  Gcrande  timidl}',  "  that  I 
could  pray  God  to  restore  m}'  father's  watches  to  life  ?  " 

"  Of  com-se,"  said  the  3'ouug  apprentice. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  Here  are  useless  pra^'ers,"  grumbled  the 
old  servant ;  ' '  but  Heaven  will  forgive  them  for  their 
good  intention." 


124  MASTER   ZACUARY. 

The  candle  being  relighted,  Scholastique,  Gerande, 
and  Aubert  knelt  upon  the  flagged  floor  ;  and  the  young 
girl  prayed  for  her  mother's  soul,  for  the  nightly  bless- 
ing, for  travellers  and  prisoners,  for  saints  and  sinners, 
and,  above  all,  that  her  father's  unlinown  sorrow  might 
be  removed. 

Then  the  three  pious  creatures  rose  with  lighter 
hearts  ;  for  the}'  had  rested  their  burdens  on  Die  Lord, 

Aubert  went  to  his  room  ;  Gerande  sat  pensively  at 
her  window  while  the  last  lights  went  out  in  Geneva ; 
and  Scholastique,  having  poured  a  little  water  on  the 
smouldering  ashes,  and  pushed  the  two  great  bolts  on 
the  street-door  to,  threw  herself  upon  her  bod,  and 
soon  dreamed  she  was  dying  of  fright. 

Meanwhile  the  horror  of  this  winter  night  increased. 
Sometimes  the  eddying  waves  sucked  the  wind  in  under 
the  piles,  and  the  house  shook  from  garret  to  cellar ; 
but  the  young  girl,  wrapt  up  in  grief,  thought  only  of 
her  father.  Since  Aubert  Thiin's  words.  Master  Zach- 
ary's  illness  had  assumed  unnatural  proportions  in  her 
eyes,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  his  dear  life,  now  pure- 
ly mechanical,  worked  upon  its  worn  wheels  with  an 
eflTort. 

Suddenly  the  blind,  blown  by  the  gale,  struck  against 
the  window-pane.  Gerande  trembled,  and  rose  quickly, 
not  understanding  the  cause  of  this  noise,  that  roused 
her  from  hei  dreams.  As  soon  as  her  emotion  was 
calmed,  she  threw  up  the  sash.     The  clouds  had  part- 


MASTER   ZACHARY.  125 

ed  ;  aud  the  rain  fell  in  torrents  on  the  neighboring  roofs. 
The  young  girl  leaned  out  to  catch  the  blind  beaten 
about  by  the  "uind  ;  but  she  was  frightened.  It  seemed 
to  her  as  if  the  rain  and  the  ri\er,  mingling  their 
stormy  waters,  were  rising  above  the  tottering  house, 
which  cracked  in  ever}-  plank.  She  turned  to  fl}'  from 
the  room  ;  but  she  saw  a  light  coming  from  Master 
Zachary's  den  ;  and  in  one  of  the  momentarj-  calms,  when 
the  elements  were  hushed,  plaintive  sounds  fell  upon 
her  ear.  She  tried  to  close  the  window,  but  could  not. 
The  wind  thrust  her  aside  like  a  thief  who  had  stolen 
into  the  house. 

Gerande  thought  she  should  go  mad  with  ten-or. 
What  was  her  father  doing?  She  opened  the  door, 
which  slipped  from  her  hands,  and  slammed  to  and  fro 
in  the  storm  ;  but,  finding  herself  in  the  dark  supper- 
room,  she  succeeded  in  feeling  her  wa}'  to  the  staircase 
which  led  to  Master  Zachary's  room,  and  glided  in,  pale 
and  fainting. 

The  old  watchmaker  stood  erect  in  the  middle  of 
the  chamber  filled  with  the  roaring  of  the  flood.  His 
bristling  hair  gave  him  a  sinister  look.  He  talked  and 
gesticulated,  neither  seeing  nor  hearing  anj*  thing. 
Gerande  stood  on  the  threshold. 

" 'Tis  death!"  said    Master   Zachaiy  in  a    hollow 

voice,  —  "  tis  death  ! "     "Why  should  I  live  when  m}-  life 

is  scattered  all  over  the  earth?    For  I,  Master  Zacha- 

ry,  I  am  indeed  the  creator  of  all  these  watches  I  have 

11* 


126  MASTER  ZACnARY. 

made.  I  have  enclosed  a  piece  of  my  very  soul  in 
every  one  of  those  iron,  gold,  or  silver  cases.  Everj' 
time  one  of  those  accursed  time-pieces  stopped,  I  felt 
my  heart  cease  to  beat ;  for  I  regulated  them  b}'  its 
pulsations." 

And,  talking  in  this  strange  fashion,  the  old  man 
glanced  at  his  bench.  There  lay  all  the  parts  of  a 
watch  which  he  had  taken  carefullj-  apart.  He  took 
up  a  sort  of  hollow  cylinder,  called  the  baiTcl,  which 
holds  the  mainspring,  and  took  out  the  steel  spiral, 
which,  instead  of  expanding,  according  to  the  laws  of 
elasticit}',  remained  coiled  up  like  some  sleeping  snake. 
It  seemed  rheumatic  as  a  feeble  old  man  whose  blood  is 
frozen  with  age.  Master  Zachary  vainlj-  strove  to  un- 
roll it  with  his  skinn}'  fingers,  whose  shadow  stretched 
along  the  wall,  but  he  could  not  do  it ;  and  soon,  with 
a  terrible  crj-  of  rage,  he  hurled  it  thi'ough  the  trap- 
door into  the  whirlpool  of  the  Rhone. 

Gerande,  rooted  to  the  spot,  stood  breathless,  motion- 
less. She  wished  to  approach  her  father,  and  could  not 
stir.  Dizzy  fancies  came  over  her.  Suddenly  a  voice 
whispered  in  her  ear,  through  the  darkness,  — 

"  Gerande,  does  sorrow  keep  you  still  awake?  Re- 
turn, I  beg  :  the  night  is  cold." 

"  Aubert,"  murmured  the  3'oung  girl,  "  j'ou  here  !  " 

"  Must  I  not  be  distiu'bed  by  whatever  disturbs 
you  ?  "  replied  Aubert. 

These  sweet  words  brousfht  back  the  blood  to  the 


MASTER  Z ACE  ART.  127 

maiden's  heart.  She  leaned  on  the  apprentice's  aiTQ, 
and  said,  — 

"  3I3'  father  is  very  ill,  Aubert.  You  alone  can  cure 
him  ;  for  this  soul-sickness  will  not  3'ield  to  his  daugh- 
ter's consolation.  His  mind  has  been  affected  hj  a 
veiy  natm-al  accident ;  and,  by  helping  him  to  repair  his 
watches,  j-ou  may  restore  him  to  reason.  Aubert,  is  it 
not  true,"  she  added,  still  excited,  "  that  his  life  is 
bound  up  in  his  time-pieces  ?  " 

Aubert  did  not  answer. 

"But  then  Heaven  could  not  approve  my  father's 
labors,"  said  Gerande,  trembling. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  apprentice,  warming 
the  young  girl's  icy  hands  in  his  own.  "  But  return  to 
your  chamber,  poor  Gerande,  and  try  to  gain  hope  with 
repose." 

Gerande  slowly  regained  her  room,  and  remained 
there  till  dawn,  without  closing  her  eyes  ;  while  Master 
Zachar}',  still  mute  and  motionless,  watched  the  stream 
running  noisily  below. 


II. 

THE   PRIDE    OF   SCIENCE. 

The  exactness  of  Genevese  merchants  in  business- 
matters  is  almost  proverbial.    They  are  severely  honest, 


128  21  ASTER   ZACnART. 

and  even  over-scrnpulous.  Fancj",  then,  Master  Zach- 
ary's  mortification,  -^hen  all  these  Thatches,  put  to- 
gether with  such  care,  were  returned  to  him  from  every 
quarter. 

Now,  these  watches  had  certainl}-  stopped,  and  with- 
out am'  apparent  reason.  The  machiner}'  was  in  good 
condition  and  perfectl}'  firm ;  but  the  springs  had  lost 
their  elasticity.  The  watchmaker  vainl}'  strove  to  re- 
place them ;  but  the  wheels  were  immovable.  These 
strange  disturbances  did  Master  Zachar}-  a  vast  injnry. 
His  splendid  inventions  had  often  caused  insinuations  of 
sorcery,  which  now  took  shape.  These  rumors  reached 
Gerande,  and  she  often  trembled  for  her  father  when 
e\'il  glances  were  fixed  upon  him. 

After  this  night  of  anguish,  however.  Master  Zachary 
seemed  to  return  to  work  with  more  confidence.  The 
morning  sun  gave  him  courage.  Aubert  was  not  long 
in  joining  him  in  the  workshop,  and  received  a  friendh' 
"  good-morning." 

"  I  am  better,"  said  the  old  watchmaker.  "  I  know 
not  what  odd  fancies  filled  m}-  brain  last  night ;  but  the 
sun  has  chased  them  all  awaj^  with  the  shadows  of 
night." 

"  My  faith,  master !  "  replied  Aubert,  "  I  don't  like 
the  night  for  you  an}'  better  than  I  do  for  mj'self." 

"  And  3-0U  are  right,  Aubert.  If  3'ou  ever  become  a 
learned  man,  ^-ou  will  learn  that  daylight  is  as  neces- 
sary as  food.  A  great  savant  owes  himself  to  the 
praises  of  other  men." 


MASTER   ZACnARY.  129 

"Master,  the  sin  of  pride  is  taking  hold  of  you 
again." 

"Pride,  Aubert!  Destro}'  in}- past,  annihilate  my 
present,  ernsh  m}'  future,  and  then  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  live  in  obscmitj-.  Poor  bo}',  j-ou  cannot 
comprehend  the  sublime  m3'steries  of  my  ai-t.  What 
are  3*ou  but  a  tool  between  ni}*  hands  ?  " 

"  Still,  Master  Zachary,"  said  Aubert,  "  I  have  more 
than  once  won  compliments  from  you  for  the  way  in 
■which  I  handled  the  most  delicate  portions  of  your 
clocks  and  watches. " 

"  To  be  sure,  Aubert,"  replied  Master  Zachary,  "  3'ou 
are  a  good  workman,  whom  I  love.  But  when  you 
work  3'ou  don't  seem  to  have  any  thing  but  copper,  gold, 
or  silver  in  your  hand  :  you  do  not  feel  the  metals 
warmed  b}'  my  genius,  palpitate  like  living  flesh.  You 
will  never  die  from  the  death  of  your  works." 

Master  Zachary  was  silent  after  these  words ;  but 
Aubert  tried  to  continue  the  conversation. 

"  By  my  faith,  master  I  "  said  he,  "  I  love  to  see  3'ou 
working  so  hard.  You  will  be  read}*  for  our  corpora- 
tion festival ;  for  I  see  that  crystal  watch  is  progressing 
rapidly." 

"Of  course,  Aubert!"  cried  the  old  watchmaker. 
"  And  it  will  be  no  small  honor  to  have  cut  this  sub- 
stance which  is  hard  as  a  diamond.  Ah,  Louis  Bcr- 
ghem  did  well  to  perfect  the  art  of  diamond-cul  dng, 
which  has  pei-mitted  me  to  polish  and  pierce  the  hardest 
stones." 


130  MASTER   ZACIIARY. 

As  he  spoke,  Master  Zachaiy  held  up  some  small  bits 
of  machinery  cut  from  crystal  with  exquisite  workman- 
ship. The  case,  the  pivots,  and  the  wheels  were  of 
the  same  substance  ;  and,  in  this  most  difficult  work,  he 
had  displayed  indescribable  talent. 

' '  Will  it  not  be  glorious  ? "  he  cried  with  flushed 
cheeks,  —  "  will  it  not  be  glorious  to  see  this  watch  pal- 
pitating through  its  transparent  case,  and  to  count  its 
heart-throbs  ?  " 

"  I  would  wager,  master,"  replied  the  3'oung  appren- 
tice, "  that  it  will  not  vary  a  second  in  a  j-ear." 

"  And  3'ou  would  surel}'  win.  Have  I  not  put  the 
purest  part  of  m3'self  into  it  ?     Does  my  heart  yqxj  ?  " 

Aubert  dared  not  lift  his  eyes  to  his  master's  face. 

"  Speak  frankly,"  said  the  old  man  sadly.  "  Have 
you  never  thought  me  mad  ?  Have  you  not  sometimes 
thought  me  a  prey  to  disastrous  dreams  ?  Yes,  I  know 
j-ou  have  !  I  have  often  read  my  doom  in  m}'  daugh- 
ter's eyes  and  in  your  own.  Oh  !  "  he  cried  in  agony, 
"  to  be  misunderstood  by  those  dearest  on  earth.  But 
to  you,  Aubert,  I  will  yet  prove  that  I  am  right. 
Do  not  shake  your  head  ;  for  you  will  be  confounded. 
The  day  when  3'ou  can  listen  and  understand  me,  you 
shall  see  that  I  have  discovered  the  secrets  of  existence, 
—  the  secrets  of  the  mysterious  union  between  soul  and 
body." 

So  saying.  Master  Zachary  swelled  with  pride.  His 
e^'es   shone   with   supernatural   fire ;    and  high   spirit 


MASTER   ZACHARY  131 

coursed  through  his  veins  :  aud  in  verj'  truth,  if  ever 
vanit}^  were  legitimate,  it  was  Master  Zachary's  vanit}'. 
For  up  to  his  da}'  watchmaking  had  been  in  its 
infancy.  From  the  time  when  Plato,  four  hundred  years 
before  the  Christian  era,  invented  the  night-clock,  a 
sort  of  clepsydra  which  told  the  hours  by  the  sound  of 
a  flute,  the  science  had  been  almost  stationarj'.  Its 
professors  worked  on  the  outside,  rather  than  the  in- 
side ;  and  those  were  the  daj's  of  beautiful  watches  in 
iron,  copper,  wood,  and  silver,  embossed  like  one  of 
Cellini's  ewers.  You  had  a  masterpiece  of  chasing, 
which  kept  time  in  very  imperfect  fashion  ;  but  3'ou 
had  a  masterpiece.  Wben  the  artist's  imagination 
was  no  longer  turned  to  plastic  perfection,  it  set  its 
wits  to  work  on  those  clocks  with  moving  figures  and 
musical  works,  arranged  most  curiously.  Besides,  who 
cared  to  regulate  the  flow  of  time  in  those  days  ?  The 
law's  delay  was  not  invented  then  ;  ph3'sical  science 
and  astronomy  did  not  base  their  calculations  on  ex- 
actly-measured periods  ;  there  were  no  establishments 
closing  at  fixed  hours,  nor  trains  starting  to  the  second. 
At  evening  they  rang  the  curfew,  and  at  night  they 
cried  the  hours  through  the  silence.  To  be  sure,  they 
did  not  live  so  long,  if  life  be  measured  by  deeds 
accomplished ;  but  they  lived  better.  The  mind  was 
nourished  by  those  noble  sentiments  born  of  the  con- 
templation of  works  of  art ;  and  pictures  were  not 
painted   to   order.     It   took  two  centin*ies  to  build  a 


132  MASTER   ZACriAlW. 

church  ;  an  artist  painted  hnt  a  few  pictures  in  a  life- 
time ;  a  poet  composed  but  one  great  work  :  but  every 
one  was  a  jewel  to  be  prized  hy  future  ages. 

When  the  exact  sciences  began  to  progress,  watch- 
making followed  in  their  wake,  although  alwa^'s  held 
back  by  one  insurmountable  difRcultj',  —  the  lack  of  a 
regular  and  continuous  measurement  of  time. 

Now,  it  was  amidst  this  stagnation  that  Master 
Zachar}^  invented  the  'scapement,  which  produced 
mathematical  regularit}'  by  bringing  the  regulating 
movement  of  the  pendulum  into  contact  with  an  on- 
ward-revolving motion.  This  invention  had  turned 
the  old  watchmaker's  head.  Pride  mounting  in  his 
heart,  like  tlie  mercur}'  in  the  thermometer,  had 
attained  the  degree  of  transcendent  folly.  By  analog}' 
he  had  been  led  to  materialistic  deductions  ;  and,  while 
maldng  his  watches,  he  dreamed  he  had  surprised  the 
secrets  of  the  union  between  body  and  soul. 

So,  on  this  occasion,  seeing  that  Aubert  listened 
attentively,  he  said  in  a  simple  tone  of  conviction,  — 

"  Do  you  know  what  life  is,  jny  boy?  Do  j'ou  under- 
stand the  action  of  those  springs  which  make  up  exist- 
ence ?  Have  3'ou  looked  into  3'ourself  ?  No  ;  and  3'et, 
with  the  ej'es  of  science,  yoxx  must  have  seen  the 
intimate  connection  between  God's  work  and  mine  ;  for 
from  his  creatures  I  have  copied  the  combination  of 
wheels  in  my  watches." 

"  Master,"  answei-ed  Aubert  quickl}-,  "  can  30U  com- 


MAS  TEE  Z  ACE  AH  7.  133 

pare  a  machine  of  steel  and  copper  to  that  breath  of 
■God,  called  the  '  soul,'  which  animates  the  body,  as  the 
breeze  lends  motion  to  the  flower  ?  Can  there  be  invis- 
ible wheels  which  move  our  arms  and  legs?  What 
machine  could  be  so  skilfulh'  adjusted  as  to  engender 
thought  in  us  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  the  question,"  replied  Master  Zaehary 
gentl}',  but  with  the  persistence  of  a  blind  man  wallving 
over  a  precipice.  "  K  j'ou  would  understand  me, 
recall  the  purpose  of  the  'scape-wheel  I  discovered. 
"When  I  saw  how  irregularl}-  watches  went,  I  saw  that 
the  motion  contained  in  them  was  insufficient,  and  that  it 
must  be  connected  with  another  regular  and  independ- 
ent motor.  I  then  thought  that  I  might  employ  the 
pendulum,  if  I  could  regularize  its  oscillation.  Now, 
was  it  not  a  sublime  idea  that  came  to  me,  of  restoring 
the  force  expended  by  that  very  clock-work  it  was  to 
regulate  ?  " 

Aubert  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"  Now,  Aubert,"  continued  the  old  watchmaker, 
growing  animated,  "  glance  at  yourself.  Do  you  not 
see  that  there  are  two  distinct  forces  within  j-ou,  —  a 
motive  and  a  regulative  power  ?  The  soul  is  the  prin- 
ciple of  life  :  that,  then,  is  the  motive  power.  Whether 
produced  b^^  a  weight,  or  by  some  immaterial  influence, 
its  home  is  in  the  heart.  But,  without  the  bod}',  this 
movement  would  be  unequal,  irregular,  impossible.  So 
the  body  comes  to  regulate  the  soul,  and,  like  the  pen- 


134  MASTER   ZACHART. 

dulum,  its  oscilliitious  are  regular  ;  and  this  is  so  true, 
that  we  fall  ill  if  we  eat,  drink,  sleep,  or  carry  on  any 
bodily  function  irregularly.  So,  just  as  in  m^'  watches, 
the  soul  restores  the  force  expended.  Well,  what 
produces  this  intimate  union  of  body  and  soul,  unless 
it  is  a  marvellous  'scapement,  by  which  the  wheels  of 
the  one  work  into  the  wheels  of  the  other  ?  Such  are 
my  discoveries  ;  and  there  are  no  more  secrets  for  me  to 
work  out  in  this  life,  which,  after  all,  is  nothing  but  an 
ingenious  machine." 

Master  Zachary  was  sublime  in  his  delusion,  which 
transported  him  to  the  infinite.  But  his  daughter 
Gerande,  standing  on  the  threshold,  had  heard  all.  She 
flew  into  her  father's  arms,  and  he  pressed  her  convul- 
sivel}'  to  his  breast. 

"  What  ails  you,  my  child?  "  asked  Master  Zachary. 

"  If  I  had  nothing  but  a  spring  here,"  said  she,  put- 
ting her  hand  to  her  heart,  "  I  should  not  love  j'ou  so 
dearly,  father." 

Master  Zachary  gazed  fixedly  at  his  daughter,  with- 
out a  word.  Suddenly  he  uttered  a  cry,  raised  his  hand 
quickly  to  his  heart,  and  fell  fainting  into  his  old 
leather  arm-chair. 

"Father!     ^Vhatisit?" 

"  Help  !  "  cried  Aubert.     "  Scholastique !  " 

But  Scholastique  did  not  come  at  once.  Some  one 
had  knocked  at  the  front-door.  She  went  to  open  it ; 
and  when  she  returned  to  the  workroom,  before  she 


MASTER   ZACHARY.  135 

opened  her  lips,  the  old  watchmaker,  coming  to  his 
senses,  said, — 

"  I  know,  old  Scholastique,  that  you're  bringing  me 
another  cursed  watch  that  has  stopped." 

"  Heavens,  he  is  right !  "  replied  Scholastique,  hand- 
ing a  watch  to  Aubert. 

"  My  heart  could  not  deceive  me,"  said  the  old  man 
with  a  sigh. 

Aubert  wound  up  the  watch  with  the  greatest  care  ; 
but  it  would  not  go. 


ni. 

A   SINGULAR   VISITOR. 


Poor  Gerande's  lamp  of  life  would  have  gone  out 
with  her  father's,  had  not  the  thought  of  Aubert  re- 
called her  to  this  world. 

The  old  watchmaker  faded  day  by  day.  His  facul- 
ties were  evidently  weakened  by  constantly  dwelling  on 
a  single  subject.  B}^  an  evil  association  of  ideas,  he 
referred  every  thing  to  his  monomania  ;  and  real  life 
seemed  to  give  place  in  him  to  an  unnatural,  medium- 
istic  existence.  Some  malicious  rivals  then  revived 
the  devilish  rumors  once  spread  abroad  concerning 
Master  Zachary's  labors. 

The  account  of  the   singular  way  in  which  all  his 


136  MASTER   ZACHARY. 

watches  stopped  running,  produced  an  immense  effect 
on  the  master  watchmakers  of  Geneva.  What  did  this 
sudden  inertia  mean  ?  and  what  was  the  strange  bond 
between  these  wlieels  and  Master  Zacliary's  life?  These 
were  raj'steries  not  to  be  confronted  without  secret 
awe.  Throughout  all  ranks  and  ages  in  the  city,  from 
the  apprentice  to  the  fine  gentleman  who  used  the  old 
watchmaker's  watches,  there  was  no  one  who  could 
judge  b}'  himself  of  the  singularit}-  of  these  facts. 
They  vainly  tried  to  penetrate  to  Master  Zachary's 
presence.  He  fell  very  ill,  which  gave  his  daughter 
an  excuse  for  ridding  him  of  incessant  visitors,  who 
generally'  came  merely  to  reproach  and  recriminate. 

Doctors  and  drugs  were  alike  powerless  before  this 
organic  deca}-,  whose  cause  escaped  them.  It  some- 
times seemed  as  if  the  old  man's  heart  ceased  to  beat ; 
and  then  it  resumed  its  throbbing  with  distressing 
irregularit}'. 

A  custom  then  existed  of  displaying  a  master's 
handiwork  for  public  appreciation.  The  heads  of  the 
different  trades  sought  to  distinguish  themselves  by  the 
novelt}'  or  perfection  of  their  work  ;  and  from  them 
Master  Zachar}-  received  the  most  noisy  pity,  though 
an  interested  sort  of  pit}',  after  all.  His  rivals 
mourned  the  more,  that  they  feared  him  less.  Thej- 
were  still  mindful  of  the  old  watchmaker's  triumphs, 
when  he  exhibited  his  watches  with  moving  ligui-es, 
and  his  musical  watches,  which  won  general  admira- 


MASTER   ZACUARY.  137 

tion,  and  brought  such  high  prices  in  France,  Switzer- 
land, and  German3\ 

However,  thanks  to  the  constant  nursing  of  Gcrande 
and  Aubert,  Master  Zachary's  health  grew  somewhat 
fu'mer ;  and,  in  the  quiet  pause  of  convalescence,  he 
succeeded  in  freeing  himself  from  the  fancies  that 
sirovf  to  master  him.  As  soon  as  he  could  walli,  his 
daughter  dragged  him  from  the  house,  thronged  inces- 
santly with  discontented  customers.  Aubert,  for  his 
part,  remained  in  the  worlcroom,  vainly  taking  apart 
and  putting  together  rebellious  watches  ;  and  the  poor 
boy,  at  his  wits'-end,  often  seized  his  head  in  both 
hands,  fearing  he  should  go  mad  like  his  master. 

Gerande  guided  her  father's  steps  towards  the "  gay- 
est walks  in  town.  Sometimes,  Master  Zachary  leaning 
on  her  arm,  she  went  b}'  the  way  of  St.  Antony,  where 
the  view  extends  to  the  shores  of  Cologne,  and  far 
across  the  lake.  Sometimes,  on  fine  mornings,  they 
could  see  the  huge  peaks  of  Mount  Buet  rising  from 
the  horizon.  Gerande  gave  names  to  all  these  places, 
quite  forgotten  hy  her  father,  whose  memorj'  seemed  to 
fail  him  ;  and  he  took  a  childish  pleasure  in  hearing  all 
these  things  he  knew  of  3-ore.  Master  Zacharj'  leaned 
on  his  daughter ;  and  the  two  heads,  silver  and  gold, 
shone  in  the  same  sunbeam. 

So  the  old  watchmaker  found  that  he  was  not  alone 
in  the  world.  Seeing  his  daughter  so  3'oung  and  fair, 
himself  so  old  and  broken,  he  thought,  that,  when  he 

12* 


138  MASTER  Z  AC  HART. 

died,  she  would  be  left  alone,  shelterless  ;  and  he  looked 
about  him.  Man}'  3'oung  Genevese  workmen  had 
alread}'  wooed  Gerande ;  but  none  had  access  to  the 
close  retreat  in  which  the  watchmaker's  famil}-  dwelt. 
It  was  therefore  natui'al,  that,  in  this  lucid  interval, 
the  old  man's  choice  should  fall  on  Aubert  Thiin. 
Once  upon  the  ti'ack,  he  remembered  that  the  j'oung 
pair  had  been  brought  up  in  the  same  faith,  the  same 
ideas,  and  that  the  movement  of  their  hearts  seemed  to 
him  "  isochi'onal,"  as  he  said  one  day  to  Scholastique. 

The  old  servant,  fairl}'  delighted  with  the  word,  al- 
though she  did  not  know  what  it  meant,  swore  by  her 
hoi}'  patron  saint  that  the  whole  town  should  hear  of  it 
in  less  than  fifteen  minutes.  Master  Zachar}-  had  great 
trouble  to  quiet  her  ;  and  at  last  won  from  her  a  promise 
of  silence,  which  she  never  kept. 

So  that  all  Geneva  was  soon  taUdng  of  the  speedy 
man'iage  of  Gerande  and  Aubert ;  but  while  the}'  talked 
they  often  heard  an  odd  sneer,  and  a  voice  sa3-ing,  — 

"  Gerande  will  never  many  Aubert." 

If  they  tiu-ned,  they  saw  a  little  old  man,  whom  they 
never  saw  before. 

How  old  was  this  strange  being?  No  one  knew. 
They  fancied  he  must  have  lived  for  centuries ;  but 
that  was  all.  His  large  flat  head  rested  on  shoulders 
as  broad  as  the  rest  of  his  bod}-  was  tall,  and  that  was 
about  three  feet.  The  fellow  would  have  made  a  good 
clock,   for  his   stomach   seemed   made   for  the   face ; 


MASTER   ZACnARY.  139 

and  the  pendulum  could  have  swung  at  ease  in  his 
breast.  His  nose  was  so  thin  and  sharp,  it  might 
easily  have  been  taken  for  the  finger  of  a  sun-clial ;  his 
straggling,  broken  teeth  looked  like  the  teeth  of  a 
wheel,  and  he  ground  them  between  his  lips  ;  his  voice 
rang  like  a  bell ;  and  his  heart  beat  like  the  tick  of  a 
clock.  This  little  man,  who  moved  his  arms  like  the 
hands  on  a  clock-dial,  walked  by  jerks,  never  tm-ning 
back.  If  any  one  followed  him,  they  found  that  he 
went  a  league  an  hour,  and  that  his  course  was  almost 
circular. 

For  a  short  time  only  had  this  strange  being  wan- 
dered, or  rather  circled,  round  the  citj- ;  but  it  had 
alread}'  been  observed  that  everj'  day,  just  as  the  sun 
reached  the  meridian,  he  paused  before  St.  Peter's 
Church,  and  resumed  his  walk  after  the  twelve  strokes 
for  noon  had  sounded.  But,  save  at  this  veiy  moment, 
he  seemed  to  be  present  at  every  couA^ersation  concern- 
ing the  old  watchmaker ;  and  people  wondered,  with 
alarm,  what  connection  could  exist  between  him  and 
Master  Zachaiy.  Besides,  thej^  noticed  that  he  never 
lost  sight  of  the  old  man  and  his  daughter  in  their 
wallis. 

One  day,  upon  the  Treille,  Gerande  perceived  this 
monster  loolring  and  laughing  at  her.  She  pressed^ 
closer  to  her  father's  side  with  a  movement  of  terror. 

"  What  ails  you,  Gerande?"  asked  Master  Zacharj-. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  3'oung  girl. 


140  MASTER  ZACIIARY. 

"  A  cliange  lias  come  over  you,  daughter,"  said  the 
old  watchmaker.  "  Are  you  goiug  to  fall  ill,  iu  your 
turu?  Well,"  he  added  with  a  moiu'uful  smile,  "  I 
must  mirse  you,  aud  I  will  um'se  you  well." 

"  O  father !  it  was  nothing.  I  felt  cold,  and  fancied 
it  Was"  — 

"Well,  what,  Gerande?" 

"  The  presence  of  that  man,  who  never  ceases  to 
follows  us,"  she  replied  iu  a  low  voice. 

Master  Zachary  turned  towards  the  little  old  man. 

"  Zounds  1  but  he  goes  well,  though,"  said  he  with  a 
satisfied  air;  "for  it  is  just  four  o'clock.  Don't  be 
frightened,  ni}'  child.  That  is  not  a  man :  it  is  a  clock." 

Gerande  looked  at  her  father  iu  terror.  How  could 
Master  Zachary  tell  time  on  this  queer  creature's 
face? 

"Bj"  the  by,"  said  the  old  watchmaker,  paying  no 
more  heed  to  him,  ' '  I  have  not  seen  Aubert  for  several 
days." 

"He  is  still  with  us,  father,"  replied  Gerande,  her 
thoughts  taking  a  sweeter  turn. 

"  What  is  he  doing,  then?  " 

"He  is  busy,  father." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  old  man :  "  he  is  busj^  repairing 
my  watches,  is  he  not?  But  he  will  never  succeed; 
for  they  do  not  need  repaks,  but  resm'rection." 

Gerande  was  silent. 

"  I  must  know,"  added  the  old  man,  "  whether  any 


MASTER   ZACI1AR7.  141 

more  of  those  accursed  watches,  on  which  the  Devil 
has  cast  his  spell,  have  been  brought  back." 

After  these  words.  Master  Zachar}-  was  perfectl}' 
dumb  until  he  reached  his  own  door ;  and  for  the  first 
time  since  his  illness,  while  Gerande  went  slowl}'  to  her 
room,  he  descended  to  the  workshop. 

Just  as  he  crossed  the  thi-eshold,  one  of  the  count- 
less clocks  hanging  on  the  wall  struck  five.  Gener- 
ally the  machiner}'  was  so  well  adjusted,  that  all  the 
clocks  struck  at  once  ;  and  their  harmon}'  gladdened  the 
old  man's  heart :  but  on  that  day  every  bell  took  its 
own  time  for  ringing,  so  that  the  ear  was  besieged  b}' 
their  successive  noises  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Mas- 
ter Zachary  suffered  frightfull}-.  He  could  not  keep 
still.  He  went  from  one  clock  to  another,  and  beat  time 
for  them  like  the  leader  of  some  orchestra,  who  has 
lost  conti'ol  of  his  men. 

"When  the  last  sound  died  awa}',  the  door  opened ; 
and  Master  Zacharj'  trembled  from  head  to  foot  as  he 
saw  the  little  old  man  gazing  fijsedl}'  at  him,  and  sa^-- 
ing,— 

"  Master,  may  I  have  a  few  words  with  3-ou?" 

"  Who  are  you?  "  asked  the  watchmaker  abruptly. 

"  A  fellow- workman.  I  have  charge  of  regulnting 
the  sun." 

"  Oh  !  you  regulate  the  sun?  "  replied  Master  Zach- 
ar}'  quickly  and  without  a  frown.  ''  "Well,  I  can 
hardly  compliment  3'ou  on  your  work.      Yom*  sun  goes 


142  MASTER   ZACnART. 

very  badly ;  and,  to  keep  in  time  with  him,  we  have  to 
be  constantlj^  setting  our  clocks  baclvward  or  forward." 

"  And  b}' the  De^^^s  cloven  hoof!"  exclaimed  the 
monstrosit}',  "  you  are  right,  master.  M3'  sun  does  not 
always  mark  noonday  at  the  same  moment  with  your 
clocks  :  but,  some  da}-,  folks  "SAill  know  that  that  comes 
from  the  inequalitj-  of  the  translatory  motion  of  the 
earth  ;  and  a  mean  noon  will  be  established  to  regulate 
the  irregularity." 

"  Shall  I  live  to  see  that  day?"  asked  the  old  watch- 
maker, with  flashing  e3'es. 

"  To  be  sure  !  "  replied  the  little  old  man,  laughing. 
"  Do  3-0U  suppose  that  3-ou  shall  ever  die?  " 

"  Alas  !  but  I  am  very  ill." 

"Oh,  yes  !  let  us  talk  of  that.  By  Beelzebub  !  that 
will  lead  up  to  the  ver^'  thing  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
about." 

So  sajdiig,  this  strange  being  unceremoniously  sprang 
into  the  old  leather  arm-chair,  and  drew  his  legs  up 
under  him  in  the  st3'le  of  those  fleshless  bones  which 
the  painters  of  funeral  hatchments  are  so  fond  of  cross- 
ing above  a  skull.  Then  he  continued  in  an  ironical 
tone, — 

"Come,  Master  Zachary,  what's  going  on  in  this 
good  town  of  Geneva  ?  I  hear  your  health  is  failing, 
that  3-our  watches  require  doctoring.  " 

"Ah!  then  3'ou,  too,  think  that  there  is  a  bond  of 
union  between  me  and  m3'  watches  ? "  cried  Master 
Zachary. 


MASTLR   Z  AC  HART.  143 

"  I  fancy  tliat  those  ^vatcl^es  have  then*  faults,  yes, 
their  vices  too.  If  the  rascals  have  not  led  a  ver} 
regular  life,  they  must  pay  the  penalty  of  their  disor- 
der.    I  thinlv  that  it's  time  thej'  mended  their  ways." 

"  "WTiat  do  3'ou  moan  by  faults?  "  said  Master  Zach- 
ary,  flushing  at  the  sarcastic  tone  in  which  these  words 
were  uttered.  "  Have  thej'  not  a  right  to  be  jDroud  of 
their  origin  ?  " 

"  Not  too  much  so,  not  too  much !  "  replied  the 
little  old  man.  "  The}'  bear  a  famous  name  ;  and  'tis 
true  an  illustrious  signature  is  graven  on  their  faces  ; 
and  they  have  the  exclusive  privilege  of  mingling  in 
the  best  society.  But  for  some  time  they've  been  acting 
badly,  and  ^-ou  can't  prevent  it.  Master  Zachary ;  and 
the  most  stupid  apprentice  in  Geneva  could  put  them 
to  rights  better  than  3'ou." 

"  Than  I,  than  Master  Zachary  !  "  cried  the  old  man 
with  a  proud  gesture. 

"  Thau  you.  Master  Zachary-,  who  cannot  restore  your 
watches  to  life." 

"  Because  I  am  feverish,  and  so  are  they,"  replied 
the  old  watchmaker,  a  cold  sweat  bathing  everj-  limb. 

"  Very  well :  they  shall  die  with  3'ou,  since  3'ou  are 
so  unable  to  restore  elasticity  to  their  springs." 

"Die  !  Not  so  :  3'ou  3'ourself  have  said  I  could  not 
die.  I  cannot  die  !  —  I,  the  first  watchmaker  in  the 
world,  —  I,  who,  by  means  of  various  wheels  and  pin- 
ions, found  out  how  to  regulate  time  with  absolute  pre- 


144  MASTER   ZACBART. 

cision.  Have  I  not  subjected  time  to  fixed  la^vs  ?  and  can 
I  not  dispose  of  it  as  I  like  ?  Into  wliat  immense  uncer- 
tainty was  not  human  destiny  plunged  before  m^'  sub- 
lime genius  disposed  its  wandering  hours  in  regular 
order?  To  what  certain  moment  could  any  act  of  life 
be  referred?  But  you,  man  or  de^-il,  whichever  j-ou 
ma}'  be,  you  never  di'eamed  of  the  grandeur  of  mj'  art, 
which  calls  in  all  the  sciences  to  aid  it.  No,  no ! 
Master  Zachary  cannot  die ;  for,  having  ordered  time, 
time  would  end  with  him.  It  would  return  to  that 
infinite  ab3'ss  whence  my  genius  snatched  it,  and  would 
be  lost  forever  in  nihility.  No,  I  can  no  more  die  than 
can  the  Creator  of  this  universe  subject  to  his  laws. 
I  have  become  his  equal,  and  I  have  shared  his  power. 
Master  Zachary  created  time,  if  God  created  eternity." 

The  old  watchmaker  looked  like  some  fallen  angel, 
rising  in  revolt  against  his  Maker.  The  little  old  man 
gave  him  a  caressing  glance,  and  seemed  to  applaud 
his  impious  rage. 

"Well  said,  master,"  he  replied.  ''  Beelzebub  had 
less  reason  to  compare  himself  with  God.  Your  glorj' 
must  not  perish.  So  j'our  servant  will  show  30U  how 
to  conquer  these  rebellious  watches." 

"IIoAv?     How?"  cried  Master  Zachary. 

"  You  shall  know  the  day  after  you  give  me  j'our 
daughter's  hand  in  mamage." 

"My  Gerande?" 

"The  same." 


MASTER  Z  AC  HART.  U5 

*'  My  daughter's  heart  is  no  longer  free,"  sa.d  Mas- 
ter Zachar}-,  in  answer  to  this  demand,  "which  neither 
seemed  to  shock  nor  to  surprise  him. 
.    "  Bah  !     She  is  one  of  your  handsomest  clocks  ;  but 
she  will  soon  stop  too." 

"  M}'  daughter,  my  Gerande  !     No,  no  !  " 

"  "W^ell,  well,  return  to  yonx  watches,  Master  Zach- 
ar}-.  Take  them  apart,  and  put  them  together  again. 
Arrange  a  match  between  your  daughter  and  j'our 
young  apprentice.  Temper  well  your  best  steel  springs. 
Bless  Aubert  and  loveh'  Gerande.  But  remember  that 
your  watches  shall  never  go,  nor  shall  Gerande  ever 
wed  Aubert." 

Thereupon  the  little  old  man  vanished,  but  not 
before  Master  Zachary  heard  six  o'clock  strike  within 
him. 


IV. 

ST.  Peter's  church. 


Meanwhile  Master  Zachar}*  faded  dail^-,  body  and 
mind.  Onlj-  occasionally  did  some  feverish  excitement 
lead  him  to  resume  bis  labor  with  more  than  wonted 
zeal ;  and  then  his  daughter  had  hard  work  to  win  him 
away. 

His  vanity  was    even    greater  than    ever  since    the 
13 


146  MASTER   ZACnARY. 

crisis  brought  on  by  bis  strange  visitor  ;  and  be  resolved 
to  master  by  sheer  genius  the  evil  influence  which  op- 
pressed his  works  and  himself.  He  first  visited  the 
various  town-clocks  intrusted  to  his  care.  He  exam- 
ined them  minutely,  and  assured  himself  that  the  wheels 
were  in  good  order,  the  pinions  firm,  and  the  weights 
exactly  balanced.  He  listened  to  every  tone  with  the 
anxious  ear  of  a  doctor  examining  a  patient's  lungs. 
Nothing  in  these  clocks  gave  any  token  of  decay. 

Gerande  and  Aubert  often  accompanied  the  old 
watchmaker  on  his  rounds.  He  must  have  been  pleased 
b}'^  their  desire  for  his  company,  and  certainl}-  could  not 
have  been  so  disturbed,  as  he  was,  by  the  thought  of 
his  speedj-  death,  if  he  had  believed  that  his  existence 
would  be  continued  in  that  of  these  dear  creatures,  if 
he  had  understood  that  some  portion  of  a  parent's  life 
always  lingers  in  his  children. 

The  old  watchmaker,  returning  home,  set  to  work 
with  eager  assiduity.  Although  persuaded  of  failure, 
it  yet  seemed  impossible  ;  and  he  never  ceased  taking 
apart  and  putting  together  the  watches  brought  to  him. 

Aubert,  on  his  part,  vainl}-  set  his  wits  to  work  to 
solve  the  riddle.  "Master,"  said  he,  "perhaps  the 
wheels  and  pinions  are  worn  out." 

"  Do  you  want  to  kill  me  by  slow  torture?"  replied 
Master  Zachary  violentlj'.  "Are  these  watches  mere 
child's  work  ?  Did  I  turn  them  in  a  lathe  for  fear  of 
pounding  m}'  fingers?    Didn't  I  forge  them  myself,  that 


MASTER   EACH  ART.  147 

they  might  be  stronger  ?  Are  not  the  springs  tempered 
to  rare  perfection  ?  Could  finer  oil  be  used  to  grease 
them?  You  can  but  admit  these  truths,  and  confess 
that  the  Devil  has  a  hand  in  it." 

And  thus,  from  morning  till  night,  dissatisfied  cus- 
tomers thronged  the  house,  penetrating  at  last  to  the 
old  vratchmaker,  who  knew  not  which  to  answer  first. 

"  This  watch  loses  so  much,  that  I  cannot  do  any 
thing  with  it,"  said  one. 

"  This,"  said  another,  "  is  perfectly  stubborn,  and 
stands  as  still  as  Joshua's  sun  !  " 

"If  it  is  true  that  j'our  health  affects  your  watches," 
cried  the  malecontents,  "  get  well  as  soon  as  you  can, 
-Master  Zachar^-." 

The  old  man  gazed  wildh'  at  the  crowd,  replpng 
onl}'  by  shakes  of  his  head  and  sad  words. 

"  Wait  till  spring  days  come,  friends.  Then  life  re- 
^^ves  in  feeble  frames.  The  sun  must  come  and  warm 
us  all." 

"  That's  a  fine  thing,  if  our  watches  are  to  be  out  of 
order  all  winter !  "  said  one  of  the  most  furious.  "  Do 
3'oa  know.  Master  Zachar^-,  that  your  name  is  gi^aven 
on  the  face  of  every  one?  By  the  Holy  Virgin,  you 
dishonor  3'our  signature  !  " 

At  last  the  old  man,  stung  to  the  quick  by  these  re- 
proaches, took  a  handful  of  gold  from  his  secretarj*, 
and  began  to  buy  back  the  damaged  watches.  On 
hearing  this  news,  customers  flocked  in  crowds  ;  and 


148  MASTER   Z  AC  LIAR  Y. 

the  small  stock  of  money  diminished  rapidl}' :  but  the 
dealer's  honesty  held  out.  Gerande  heartil}-  applauded 
his  delicate  sense  of  honor ;  and  Aubert  was  soon 
obliged  to  offer  Master  Zachar}-  his  savings. 

"  What  Trill  become  of  my  daughter?  "  said  the  old 
watchmaker,  sometimes  falling  back,  in  this  universal 
wreck,  on  his  paternal  love. 

Aubert  dared  not  repl^'  that  he  was  of  good  cheer  for 
the  future,  and  devoted  to  Gerande.  Master  Zachary 
had  that  da}-  called  him  son,  beljing  the  fatal  words 
that  still  rang  in  his  ears,  — 

"  Gerande  shall  never  many  Aubert !  " 

By  this  sj'stem  the  old  watchmaker  was  soon 
sti'ipped  bare.  His  ancient  vases  had  passed  into  the 
hands  of  sti'angers  ;  he  parted  with  the  beautiful  pan- 
els of  exquisiteh'-carved  black-oak,  which  had  adorned 
his  walls  ;  the  few  naive  paintings  of  the  early  Dutch 
school  no  longer  gladdened  his  daughter's  eyes ;  and 
ever}'  thing,  even  to  the  precious  tools  his  genius  had 
invented,  was  sold  to  satisfy  his  claimants. 

Scholastique  alone  would  not  listen  to  reason  on 
such  a  subject ;  but  all  her  efforts  could  not  keep  intrud- 
ers from  her  master,  nor  prevent  their  departure  with 
some  precious  relic.  Tlien  her  clack  was  heard 
throughout  the  whole  neighborhood,  where  she  was 
known  of  old.  She  busil}'  contradicted  the  stories  of 
witchcraft  and  magic  spread  abroad  concerning  Zacha- 
ry ;  but,  as  slie  was  at  heart  convinced  of  then*  truth, 
she  said  countless  praj-ers  to  atone  for  her  pious  lies. 


MASTER   ZACUART.  149 

It  liad  long  been  noticed  that  the  watchmaker  had 
given  up  all  religious  duties.  Once  he  accompanied 
Gerande  to  mass,  and  seemed  to  iind  in  prayer  that  in- 
tellectual charm  with  which  it  pierces  all  fine  intellects, 
it  being  the  most  sublime  exercise  of  imagination.  The 
old  man's  voluntar}-  absence  from  holy  places,  joined 
with  his  habits  of  secrec}',  in  some  sort  warranted  the 
accusations  of  sorcerj-  brought  against  him.  So,  with 
the  double  purpose  of  bringing  her  father  back  to  God 
and  to  the  world,  Gerande  resolved  to  call  in  religion 
to  her  aid.  She  thought  Catholicism  might  lend  some 
spark  of  vitality  to  that  dying  soul ;  but  the  dogmas 
of  faith  and  humility  had  to  fight  with  indomitable 
vault}'  in  Master  Zachar^-'s  soul,  and  to  beat  against  the 
pride  of  science,  which  refers  every  thing  to  itself, 
without  going  back  to  the  infinite  Source  whence  first 
principles  flow. 

Under  these  auspices,  the  young  girl  undertook  her 
father's  conversion ;  and  her  influence  was  so  strong, 
that  the  old  watchmaker  promised  to  attend  high  mass 
at  the  cathedral  on  Sunday'.  Gerande  felt  a  momenta- 
ry ecstas}' ,  as  if  heaven  had  opened  before  her  e3'es. 
Old  Scholastique  could  not  contain  her  jo}^,  and  had,  at 
last,  comdncing  arguments  to  offer  to  those  Q\i\  tongues 
that  accused  her  master  of  impiety.  She  told  all  her 
neighbors,  friends  and  foes,  acquaintances  and  stran- 
gers alike. 

"My  faith!  we  hardl}-  believe  your  words.  Dame 

13* 


150  MASTER   ZACUARY. 

Scholastique,"  they  said.  "  Master  Zachaiy  has  al- 
wa3-s  been  allied  with  the  Devil." 

"  You  never  took  into  account  the  splendid  church- 
towtirs  where  my  master's  clocks  keep  time,"  said  the 
good  woman.  "  Plow  many  times  they've  rung  for 
mass  and  prater ! " 

"  Doubtless,"  they  replied.  "  But  hasn't  he  invent- 
ed machines  that  walk  alone,  and  do  all  the  work  of  a 
real  man  ?  " 

"  Could  a  child  of  the  Devil,"  resumed  Dame  Scho- 
lastique angrily,  ' '  have  made  that  beautiful  iron  clock 
in  the  Castle  of  Andernatt,  which  the  whole  city  of 
Geneva  had  not  money  enough  to  buy?  Every  hour  a 
beautiful  motto  appears  on  the  face ;  and  an}^  Christian 
who  conforms  to  it  will  go  straight  to  paradise.  Is 
that  the  work  of  the  Devil  ?  " 

This  masterpiece,  finished  twenty  years  before,  had, 
indeed,  borne  Master  Zachary's  renown  to  the  clouds  ; 
but  at  that  very  time  accusations  of  sorcer}'  had  been 
rife.  However,  the  old  man's  return  to  St.  Peter's 
Church  could  not  fail  to  silence  every  evil  tongue. 

Master  Zachary,  doubtless  quite  oblivious  of  the 
promise  he  had  made  his  daughter,  returned  to  his  den. 
Having  seen  his  inability  to  restore  his  watches  to  life, 
he  resolved  to  try  if  he  could  not  make  some  new  ones. 
He  cast  aside  all  the  dead  bodies,  and  set  to  work  to 
finish  the  crystal  watch,  which  was  to  be  the  crowning 
glorj'  of  his  life.     But  in  vain.     He  used  his  most  per- 


MASTER   Z  AC  HART.  151 

feet  tools,  employed  those  rubies  and  diamonds  best 
adapted  to  resist  friction  :  the  watch  broke  in  his  hands 
the  fii'st  time  he  tried  to  wind  it  up. 

The  old  man  concealed  this  event  from  everj-  )ne, 
even  from  his  daughter ;  but  from  that  day  his  life 
ebbed  rapidlj-  away.  It  was  but  the  last  few  beats  of 
a  penduhmi,  growing  slower  and  slower  as  nothing 
comes  to  restore  its  pristine  movement.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  law  of  gravit}',  acting  on  the  old  man,  was 
irresistibly  dragging  him  down  to  the  grave. 

The  Sunda}'  so  ardently  desired  hy  Gerande  came 
at  last*.  The  daj^  was  fine,  and  the  air  refreshing. 
The  people  of  Geneva  wallced  peacefully  through  the 
streets,  talking  cheerilj'  of  returning  spring.  Gerande, 
anxiously'  taking  her  father's  arm,  turned  towards  St. 
Peter's,  while  Scholastique  followed  with  their  prayer- 
books.  The  passers  looked  curioush'  at  them.  The 
old  man  was  led  along  like  a  child,  or  rather  a  blind 
man.  The  worshippers  in  St.  Peter's  Church  saw  him 
cross  the  threshold  with  a  feeling  of  terror  ;  and  some 
even  shrank  at  his   approach. 

The  music  for  high  mass  had  already  begun. 
Gerande  took  her  accustomed  place,  and  knelt  in  an 
obscure  corner.     Master  Zachar^-  stood  beside  her. 

The  ceremonial  of  mass  went  on  with  the  solemn 
majesty  of  those  days  of  faith  ;  but  the  old  man  had  no 
faith.  He  did  not  implore  the  pit}-  of  Heaven  in  the 
wail  of  the  Kyrie :  in  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis,  he  did  not 


152  MASTER   ZACIIARY. 

sing  the  glories  of  mansions  above.  The  reading  of  the 
gosj)el  never  roused  him  from  his  materialistic  dreams  ; 
and  he  forgot  to  join  in  the  Catholic  act  of  homage  at 
the  Credo.  The  vain  old  man  stood  motionless  and  in- 
sensible as  a  stone  statue ;  and  even  at  the  awful 
moment  when  a  tinkling  bell  announced  the  miracle  of 
transubstantiation,  he  never  knelt,  but  gazed  straight 
at  the  divine  Host  raised  above  the  worshippers  bj*  the 
priest. 

Gerande  watched  her  father,  and  her  missal  was  wet 
with  tears. 

At  that  instant  the  cathedral  clock  struck  half  after 
eleven.  Master  Zachary  turned  eagerlj'  towards  the 
old  bell-tower,  which  still  spoke.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
inner  face  were  looking  steadily  at  him,  as  if  the  figures 
shone  like  fire,  and  as  if  the  hands  sparkled  with 
electric  light.  Mass  was  over.  It  was  customar}^  to 
repeat  the  Angelus  at  noon ;  and  the  priests,  before 
quitting  the  altar,  waited  for  the  hour  to  sound  from 
the  belfry-tower.  A  few  'moments  more,  and  their 
prayers  would  rise  to  the  Virgin's  feet. 

But  suddenly  a  harsh  sound  was  heard.  Master 
Zachary  uttered  a  cvy. 

The  minute-hand,  on  reaching  twelve,  had  stopped  ; 
and  the  clock  did  not  strike.  Gerande  flew  to  her 
father's  aid,  for  he  had  fallen  senseless ;  and  he  was 
borne  from  the  church. 

"  It  is  his  death-stroke  \ "  sobbed  Gerande. 


m 


"  I  will  not  die !  "  be  cried,  "  I  cannot  die !    I,  Master  Zacbarjv 
should  not  die.    My  books !  —  my  accounts !  "  Page  l.J3. 


MASTER   ZACnARY.  153 

Master  Zachaiy,  ha^ing  been  carried  home,  was  put 
to  bed,  quite  unconscious.  Life  no  longer  existed 
in  him,  save  on  the  surface,  like  those  light  clouds 
of  smoke  which  float  round  a  newlj'-extinguished 
lamp. 

When  he  recovered  his  senses,  Aubert  and  Gerande 
"were  leaning  over  him.  At  this  supreme  moment  the 
future,  in  his  e^'es,  assumed  the  form  of  the  present. 
He  saw  his  daughter  alone,  helpless. 

"  My  son,"  said  he  to  Aubert,  "  I  give  thee  m}- 
daughter ; "  and  he  stretched  out  his  hands  to  his  two 
children,  who  were  thus  united  beside  a  dying-bed. 

But  immediatelj'  he  rose  with  a  gesture  of  rage. 
The  little  old  man's  words  recurred  to  him. 

"I  will  not  die!"  he  cried.  "I  cannot  die!  I, 
Master  Zacharj-,  should  not  die.  M}'  books  !  —  m}- 
accounts !  "  — 

So  saying,  he  sprang  from  his  bed  towards  a  book 
containing  the  names  of  his  customers,  together  with 
the  articles  sold  them.  He  turned  it  eagerly  over  ;  and 
his  shrivelled  finger  paused  at  a  certain  entr}-. 

"  There  !  "  he"  said,  "  there  !  That  old  iron  clock, 
sold  to  that  Pittonaccio.  It  is  the  onl^'  one  which  has 
not  been  brought  back  to  me.  It  exists  ;  it  goes  ;  it 
still  lives  !  Oh,  I  must  have  it !  I  will  find  it  out !  I 
will  watch  it  so  -^'ell,  that  death  can  gain  no  further 
foothold  on  me." 

And  he  fainted. 


154  MASTER  ZACBARY. 

Aubert  and  Geraude  knelt  by  the  old  man's  bed, 
and  prayed  together. 


v. 

THE   HOUR   OP   DEATH. 

Some  days  passed  b}",  and  Master  Zachary,  the  dy- 
ing man,  rose  from  his  bed,  and  returned  to  life  bj-  a 
supernatm-al  effort.  He  lived  on  pride.  But  Gerande 
was  not  deceived :  her  father  was  lost  forever,  body 
and  soul. 

The  old  man  mustered  his  last  resources,  pa3'ing  no 
heed  to  his  family-.  He  expended  incredible  energy, 
walking  to  and  fro,  rummaging  about,  and  muttering 
mysterious  words. 

One  morning  Gerande  went  down  to  his  work-shop  : 
Master  Zacharj-  was  not  there. 

All  day  she  awaited  him.  Master  Zachary  did  not 
return. 

Gerande  wept  till  she  could  weep  no  more  ;  but  her 
father  did  not  appear. 

Aubert  searched  the  cit}-,  and  gained  the  sad  assm*- 
ance  that  the  old  man  had  lef^  it. 

"  We  must  find  my  fathei  !  "  cried  Gerande,  when 
the  young  apprentice  brought  her  these  melancholy 
tidings. 


MASTER  ZACnARY.  155 

"  Where  can  he  be?  "  asked  Aubert. 

An  iuspii"ation  suddenly  illumined  his  soul.  Master 
Zachary's  last  words  returned  to  his  memorj'.  The  old 
watchmaker  only  lived  in  that  iron  clock  which  had 
not  been  brought  back.  He  had  gone  in  pursuit  of 
it. 

Aubert  communicated  his  idea  to  Gerande. 

"  Let  us  look  at  my  father's  book,"  she  replied. 

Both  descended  to  the  workroom.  The  book  lay 
open  on  the  bench.  All  the  clocks  and  watches  made 
by  the  old  vv'atchmaker,  which  had  been  returned  for 
repah's,  were  crossed  out,  —  all  but  one. 

"  Sold  to  Lord  Pittonaccio  an  iron  clock  with  mu- 
sical works  and  moving  figures  ;  taken  to  his  castle  at 
Andernatt." 

This  was  the  "  moral  "  clock  Scholastique  had  quoted 
with  such  praise.  "  My  father  is  there!"  cried  Ge- 
rande. ■ 

"  Let  us  hasten  thither,"  replied  Aubert.  "  We  may 
save  him  yet." 

"Not  for  this  life,"  murmured  Gerande,  "but  for 
another,  at  least." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  Gerande  !  The  Castle  of  An- 
dernatt stands  among  the  gorges  of  the  Dent  du  3Iidi, 
twenty  hours'  journe}'  from  Geneva.     Let  us  start !  " 

That  ver3-  evening  Aubert  and  Gerande,  followed  by 
then-  faithful  servant,  jom'nej'ed  on  foot  along  the  road 
which  skuls  Lake  Geneva.     They  made  five  leagues 


156  MASTER   ZACHARY. 

that  night,  lia\ing  stopped  neither  at  Bessinge,  nor 
Ermance,  where  stands  the  famous  Maj'or  castle.  They 
forded,  not  without  some  difficult}*,  the  torrent  of  the 
Dranse.  They  inquired  everywhere  for  Master  Zacha- 
ly,  and  soon  felt  certain  that  they  were  on  his  track. 

The  next  day  at  sunset,  having  passed  Thone,  they 
reached  Evian,  whence  the  whole  map  of  Switzerland 
may  be  seen  unrolled  for  twelve  leagues  awa}-.  But 
the  two  lovers  never  wasted  a  thought  on  the  enchant- 
ing prospect.  The}"  went  on  and  on,  driven  by  some 
supernatural  power.  Aubert,  leaning  on  a  knott}- 
stick,  offered  his  arm,  sometimes  to  Gerande,  some- 
times to  old  Scholastique,  and  called  up  all  his  strength 
to  sustain  his  companions.  All  three  talked  of  their 
grief,  their  hope,  and  thus  pursued  their  pleasant  road, 
with  heads  erect,  along  the  narrow  uplands  which  con- 
nect the  shores  of  the  lake  with  the  loft}'  mountains  of 
Chalais.  Soon  they  came  to  Bouveret,  at  the  point 
where  the  Rhone  flows  into  Lake  Geneva. 

On  leaving  this  city,  they  also  left  the  lake,  and  their 
fatigue  increased  in  these  mountainous  regions.  Vione, 
Chessy,  Colombey,  half-hidden  villages,  were  soon 
left  behind  them.  But  their  knees  gave  way  beneath 
them,  their  feet  were  torn  by  tlie  sharp  stones  which 
covered  the  ground  like  granite  brushwood.  No  trace 
of  Master  Zachary. 

However,  they  were  determined  to  find  him  ;  and  the 
lovers  asked  no  rest  at  lonely  cottages,  nor  at  the  Cas- 


MASTER   Z  AC  HART.  157 

tie  of  Moathej',  which,  TV'ith  its  dependencies,  belonged 
to  Margaret  of  Savoy.  At  last,  towards  the  close  of 
da}',  they  reached,  almost  tired  to  death,  the  hermitage 
of  Notre  Dame  cle  Sex,  at  the  foot  of  the  Dent  du 
Midi,  six  hundred  feet  above  the  bed  of  the  Rhone. 

The  hermit  received  all  three  at  nightfall.  They 
could  not  have  gone  another  step,  and  there  they  were 
to  sleep.  The  hermit  gave  them  no  news  of  Master 
Zachar}'.  They  could  scarcely  hope  to  find  him  alive 
amid  these  dreary  wastes.  The  night  was  dark  ;  a  hur- 
ricane raged  upon  the  mountain ;  and  avalanches 
dashed  down  from  the  rocks. 

The  two  lovers,  crouching  over  the  hermit's  fire,  told 
him  their  sad  tale.  Their  cloaks,  wet  with  snow,  were 
drying  in  one  corner ;  and  without,  the  hermit's  dog 
was  howling  dolefull}',  in  unison  with  the  moaning 
blast. 

"Pride,"  said  the  hermit  to  his  guests,  "  destroj'ed 
an  angel  meant  for  heaven.  It  is  the  stumbling-block 
against  which  man's  deslin}'  is  tried.  Reason  cannot 
be  opposed  to  pride,  the  root  of  all  evil,  because  it  is 
its  very  nature  to  close  its  ears  against  it.  Nothing 
remains  but  to  pra}'  for  your  father." 

All  four  knelt ;  when  the  dog  redoubled  his  noise, 
and  some  one  beat  against  the  hermitage  door. 

"  Open,  in  the  Devil's  name  !  " 

The  door  \-ielded  to  the  angry  blows  ;  and  a  man  ap- 
peared, haggard,  half-clad,  and  with  dishevelled  hair. 


158  MASTER   ZACIIARY. 

"  My  father  !  "  cried  Gerande. 

It  was  Master  Zachary. 

"Where  am  I?"  said  he.  "In  eternity!  Time  is 
at  an  end.  The  hours  no  longer  strike.  The  hands 
hfive  stopped !  " 

"  Father!  "  cried  Gerande,  with  such  touching  emo- 
tion, that  the  old  man  seemed  to  return  to  the  living 
world. 

"You  here,  Gerande!"  he  exclaimed,  "and  you, 
Aubert !  Oh  !  my  dear  pair  of  lovers,  j'ou've  come  to 
get  married  in  our  old  church  !  " 

"  Father,"  said  Gerande,  seizing  him  by  the  arm. 
"  return  to  j'our  home  in  Geneva  ;  return  with  us  !  " 

The  old  man  freed  himself  from  his  daughter's  hold, 
and  rushed  towards  the  door,  on  whose  threshold  the 
snow  lay  in  huge  flakes. 

"  Do  not  leave  your  children  !  "  cried  Aubert. 

"  "Why,"  replied  the  old  watchmaker  sadl}-,  —  "  why 
should  I  return  to  spots  my  life  has  already  left,  and 
where  a  part  of  mj'self  is  buried  forever  ?  " 

"  Your  soul  is  not  dead,"  said  the  hermit  gravely. 

"My  soul?  Oh,  no!  Its  wheels  are  in  running 
order.     I  feel  its  even  beats." 

"  Your  soul  is  immaterial ;  j'our  soul  is  immortal !  " 
replied  the  hermit  forcibl}'. 

"  Yes,  like  my  fame  !  But  it  is  locked  up  in  the 
Castle  of  Andernatt,  and  I  want  to  see  it  again." 

The  hermit  crossed  himself.  Scholastique  nearly 
fainted.     Aubert  held  Gerande  in  his  arms. 


MASTER   ZACHARY.  159 

"  The  Castle  of  Andernatt  is  inhabited  by  a  lost 
soul,"  said  the  hermit,  "  a  wretch,  who  never  salutes 
the  cross  on  rax  hermitage." 

"  Father,  do  not  go  there." 

"  I  "want  my  soul !     My  soul  is  mine." 

"  Hold  him  ;    hold  my  father  !  "  cried  Gerande. 

But  the  old  man  had  crossed  the  threshold,  and  van- 
ished into  darkness,  shouting, — 

"  Help,  help  !     My  soul !  " 

Gerande,  Aubert,  and  Scholastique  hurried  after 
Mm.  The}'  traversed  impracticable  paths,  over  which 
Master  Zachary  flew  like  a  whirlwind,  impelled  by 
an  irresistible  force.  The  snow  eddied  round  them, 
and  mingled  its  white  flakes  with  the  foam  of  torrents 
let  loose. 

As  they  passed  the  chapel  erected  in  memoiy  of  the 
massacre  of  the  Thebau  legions,  Gerande,  Aubert,  and 
Scholastique  crossed  themselves  hastily.  Master 
Zachary  did  not  bare  his  head. 

At  last  the  village  of  Evionuaz  came  in  sight  amidst 
this  desert  region.  The  hardest  heart  would  have 
been  moved  on  seeing  this  straggling  A'illage  lost  in 
such  fearful  wastes.  The  old  man  took  no  notice  of  it. 
He  turned  to  the  left,  and  plunged  into  the  deepest 
gorge  of  the  Dents  du  Midi,  which  pierce  the  sky  with 
their  sharp  peaks. 

Soon  a  ruin,  old  and  dark  as  the  rocks  at  its  base, 
rose  before  him.  "There  it  is!  there!"  he  cried, 
urging  on  his  mad  footsteps. 


160  .MASTER   ZACnARY. 

The  Castle  of  Andernatt,  at  this  period,  was  nothing 
but  a  heap  of  ruins.  A  broken  tower  surmounted  it, 
and  seemed  to  tlu'eaten,  in  its  fall,  the  old  gables  be- 
low. These  vast  heaps  of  stone  formed  a  horrid  sight : 
one  could  imagine,  amid  the  obstructions,  dark  halls 
with  broken  ceilings,  and  filthy  nests  of  vipers. 

A  low,  narrow  postern-gate,  opening  on  a  moat  filled 
with  rubbish,  gave  access  to  the  Castle  of  Andernatt. 
Who  had  passed  in?  No  one  knows.  Doubtless, 
some  margrave,  half  robber,  half  lord  of  the  manor, 
dwelt  there.  Bandits  or  coiners  succeeded  the  mar- 
grave, and  were  hung  on  the  scene  of  their  crimes. 
And  tradition  tells,  that,  on  winter  nights,  Satan  leads 
his  memorial  dance  on  the  brink  of  deep  gulfs  which 
swallow  up  the  shadow  of  these  ruins. 

Master  Zaehary  was  not  alarmed  by  their  gloomy 
aspect.  lie  came  to  the  postern-gate.  No  one  pre- 
vented his  entrance.  A  large  dark  court  appeared 
before  him.  No  one  prevented  him  from  crossing  it. 
He  reached  a  sort  of  inclined  plane,  which  led  to  one 
of  those  long  corridors,  whose  arches  seem  to  crush  out 
daylight  with  their  weight.  No  one  opposed  his  pas- 
sage. Gerande,  Aubert,  and  Scholastique  still  fol- 
lowed him. 

Master  Zachar^',  as  if  guided  by  an  invisible  hand, 
seemed  sure  of  his  road,  and  walked  at  a  rapid  pace. 
He  reached  an  old  worm-eaten  door,  which  gave  way 
beneath  his  blows,  while  huge  bats  circled  obliquely 
round  his  head. 


JfA STER   ZA CHARY.  1(1 

An  immense  hall,  in  better  preservation  than  the 
rest,  \vLj  before  him.  Lofty  sculptured  panels  covered 
the  walls,  over  which  swarmed  worms,  spiders,  and 
maggots.  Long  narrow  windows,  like  loopholes, 
shivered  in  the  gale. 

Master  Zachar}-  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  hall 
with  a  cry  of  jo}'. 

On  an  iron  bracket,  fastened  to  the  wall,  stood  that 
clock  wherein  now  dwelt  his  remnant  of  life.  This 
unequalled  masterpiece  represented  an  old  Romanesque 
church,  with  its  buttresses  of  wrought  iron,  and  heavy 
belfiy,  which  contained  a  complete  set  of  chimes  for 
morning  anthem,  angelus,  mass,  vespers,  compline,  and 
benediction.  Over  the  church-door,  which  opened  at 
the  time  for  worship,  was  carved  a  rose- window,  in  the 
centre  of  which  were  the  two  hands,  and  on  whose 
archivolt  the  twelve  hours  were  cut  in  relief*  on  a  dial, 
lietween  door  and  window,  as  old  Scholastique  related, 
useful  maxims  for  dail}'  practice  appeared  on  a  copper 
plate.  Master  Zachary  had  devised  these  proverbs 
with  most  Christian  care  :  the  hours  of  prayer,  labor, 
meal-time,  recreation,  and  repose,  followed  in  religious 
order,  and,  if  faithfully  observed,  would  certainly 
insure  salvation. 

Master  Zachar}',  -nald  with  joy,  was  just  about  to 
seize  the  clock,  when  a  hideous  peal  of  laughter  rang 
out  behind  him. 

He  turned,  and,  \>y  the  light  of  a  smoky  lamp,  recog- 
nized the  little  old  man  from  Geneva.  I'l* 


162  MASTER  ZACHARY. 

"  You  here  !  "  he  cried. 

Gerande  was  frightened  :  she  ching  to  her  lover. 

"Good-evening,  Master  Zachary  !  "  said  the  monster. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  Lord  Pittonaccio,  at  your  seiTice.  You've  come 
to  give  me  your  daughter  !  You  remembered  my  words, 
'  Gerande  shall  never  marry  Aubert.' " 

The  3'oung  apprentice  flew  at  Pittonaccio,  who  van- 
ished like  a  ghost. 

"  Stay,  Aubert !  "  said  Master  Zachary. 

"  Good-night !  "  said  Pittonaccio,  as  he  disappeared. 

"Father,"  cried  Gerande,  "let  us  fly  this  acciu-sed 
spot !     Father ! " 

Master  Zachary  was  gone.  He  was  pursuing  Pitto- 
naccio's  phantom  up  stairs  and  down.  Scholastique, 
Aubert,  and  Gerande  were  left  dumfounded  in  the 
vast  saloon.  The  young  girl  sank  upon  a  stone  seat  : 
the  old  servant  knelt  beside  her,  and  prayed.  Aubert 
stood  watching  his  betrothed.  Pale  lights  twined 
through  the  darkness ;  and  the  silence  was  o\\\y  inter- 
rupted by  the  sound  of  insects  busil}'  gnawing  at  the 
carvings,  marking  the  time  b}'  the  "  death-watch." 

With  the  first  ra3-s  of  dawn,  all  three  ventured  over 
the  endless  stairways  which  wound  about  this  mass  of 
stone.  For  two  hours  they  wandered  thus  without 
meeting  a  living  soul,  and  hearing  nothing  but  a  dis- 
tant echo  in  response  to  their  cries.  Sometimes  they 
found  themselves  buried  a  hundred  feet  below  ground, 


MASTER  ZACIIARY.  1G3 

sometimes  the}'  towered  above  the  savage  moun- 
tains. 

Accident  at  last  brought  them  back  to  the  huge  hall 
which  had  sheltered  them  through  a  night  of  anguish. 
It  was  no  longer  vacant.  Master  Zachary  and  Pitto- 
naccio  were  talking  there  together ;  one  erect  and  rigid 
as  a  corpse,  the  other  leaning  on  a  marble  table. 

Master  Zachary,  seeing  Gerando,  took  her  b}'  the 
hand,  and  led  her  to  Pittonaccio,  saying,  — 

"  Behold  3'our  lord  and  master,  m}'  daughter. 
Gerande,  this  is  your  husband." 

Gerando  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Never  !  "  cried  Aubert ;  "  for  she  is  betrothed  to 
me." 

"  Never  !  "  replied  Gerande  like  a  plaintive  echo. 

Pittonaccio  began  to  laugh. 

"You  would  kill  me,  then?"  cried  the  old  man. 
"  There,  in  that  clock,  the  last  of  all  my  handiwork  that 
still  keeps  time,  there  my  life  is  locked  ;  and  this  man 
tells  me,  '  ^\Tien  I  have  your  daughter,  that  clock 
shall  be  yours.'  And  this  man  will  not  wmd  it  up. 
He  can  smash  it,  and  hurl  me  into  space.  O  my 
daughter  !  jox\.  love  me  no  longer." 

"Father,"  murmured  Gerande,  recovering  herself. 

"  If  you  knew  how  I  have  suffered,  far  from  my 
^'ital  spark ! "  continued  the  old  man.  "  Pei'haps  no  one 
has  taken  care  of  this  clock ;  perhaps  the  wheels  have 
been  allowed  to  clog,  the  springs  to  wear  out.     But 


164  MASTER   ZACnARY. 

now,  A\itli  my  own  hands,  I  shall  tend  the  dear  crea- 
ture ;  for  I  must  not  die,  —  I,  the  great  Genevese  clock- 
maker.  See,  daughter,  how  steadil}-  the  hands  advance. 
Hold,  five  o'clock  is  just  striking  !  Listen,  and  observe 
the  good  ad^dce  'twill  ofier  j'ou." 

Five  o'clock  rang  from  the  belfry  with  a  sound  that 
echoed  dolefully  through  Gcrande's  soul ;  and  these 
words  shone  out  in  red  letters :  "  Man  must  eat  of  the 
fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge." 

Aubert  and  Gerande  gazed  at  each  other  in  amaze- 
ment. These  were  not  the  Catholic  watchmaker's 
orthodox  devices.  The  breath  of  Satan  must  have 
passed  over  them.  But  Zachary  paid  no  heed,  and 
continued,  — 

"Do  you  hear,  Gerande?  I  live,  I  live  again! 
Listen  to  vay  breathing ;  see  the  blood  circnlate  through 
ra.y  veins.  No,  jo\x  would  not  kill  your  father :  you 
will  take  this  man  for  3-onr  husband,  that  I  ma}' become 
immortal,  and  attain  to  the  power  of  God." 

At  these  impious  words,  old  Scholastique  crossed 
herself,  and  Pittonaccio  uttered  a  howl  of  joy. 

"  And  then,  Gerande,  j-ou  will  be  happ}-  with  him. 
Look  at  this  man  :  he  is  time.  Your  life  will  be  regu- 
lated with  absolute  precision.  Gerande,  I  gave  jom 
life  :  restore  j-our  father  to  life." 

"  Gerande,"  murmured  Aubert,  "  I  am  your  be- 
trothed." 

"He  is  my  father,"  replied  Gerande,  her  resolution 
giving  way. 


MASTER   ZACUAET.  165 

"  She  is  3'ours,"  said  Master  Zachary.  '•'  Pittouaccio, 
you  will  keep  your  promise  ?  " 

"  Here  is  the  key  of  joudcr  clock,"  replied  the  hor- 
rid creatiu:e. 

Master  Zachary  seized  the  great  kej',  which  resem- 
bled a  viper  uncoiled,  and  ran  to  the  clock,  which 
he  began  to  wind  with  furious  speed.  The  creaking 
of  the  springs  was  frightful.  The  old  watchmaker 
wound  and  wound,  without  a  pause,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  rotator}'  motion  were  independent  of  his  will. 
He  wound  more  and  more  quickl}',  and  with  strange 
tvi'ists  and  turns,  until  he  dropped  down  exhausted. 

"  It  is  wound  up  for  a  centurj' !  "   he  cried.  - 

Aubert  rushed  from  the  hall  as  if  mad.  After  many 
turns  and  twists,  he  found  an  exit  from  the  accursed 
dwelling,  and  fled  over  the  rocks.  He  returned  to 
the  hermitage  of  Notre  Dame  de  Sex,  and  used  such 
desperate  language  to  the  hoi}-  man,  that  he  consented 
to  accompany  him  to  Andernatt  Castle. 

If  Gerande  had  not  wept  through  these  hours  of 
agony,  'twas  because  she  had  exhausted  the  source 
of  tears. 

Master  Zachary  had  not  stirred  from  the  great  hall. 
He  listened  anxiously  to  the  regular  ticking  of  the  old 
clock. 

Ten  o'clock  struck  meanwhile  ;  and,  to  Scholastique's 
immense  alai-m,  these  words  appeared  on  the  copper 
plate :  — 


166  MASTER   ZACHARY. 

"  Man  may  become  the  equal  of  God." 

Not  only  was  the  old  man  free  from  horror  at  these 
impious  maxims,  but  he  read  them  eagerl}-,  and  seemed 
pleased  with  the  haughty  words,  while  Pittonaeeio 
hovered  about  him. 

The  marriage-contract  was  to  be  signed  at  midnight. 
Gerande,  almost  inanimate,  saw  aud  heard  nothing. 
The  silence  was  only  interrupted  by  the  old  man's 
words  and  Pittonaccio's  sneers. 

Eleven  o'clock  struck.  Master  Zachary  trembled, 
and  in  a  loud  voice  read  this  blasphemy  :  — 

Man  slioxdd  he  the  slave  of  science,  and  sacrifice 
friends  and  family  to  it. 

"Yes,"  he  cried,  "  science  is  the  only  thing  in  the 
world." 

The  hands  glided  over  their  iron  dial  with  snake- 
like hisses,  and  the  clock  ticked  rapidl}'. 

Master  Zachar^^  spoke  no  more.  He  had  fallen  to 
the  ground.  His  throat  rattled  ;  and  from  his  laboring 
breast  came  these  broken  words  :  — 

' '  Life,  science  !  " 

This  scene  had  two  new  witnesses,  —  Aubert  and  the 
hermit.  Master  Zachary  was  stretched  on  the  floor. 
Ge.ande,  near  at  hand,  more  dead,  than  alive,  was 
praying. 

Suddenly'  they  heard  the  harsh  noise  which  precedes 
the  striking  of  an  hour. 

Master  Zachary  sat  up. 


MASTER   ZACHARY.  167 

' '  Midnight !  "  he  cried. 

The  hermit  stretclied  his  hand  towards  the  old  clock, 
and  it  did  not  strike  twelve. 

Master  Zachary  uttered  a  cry  that  might  have  been 
heard  in  hell,  when  these  words  appeared  :  — 

He  lolio  attemjits  to  equal  God  ivill  be  damned  for- 
ever. 

The  old  clock  hurst  with  a  sound  like  thunder  ;  and 
the  mainspring,  escaping,  flew  about  the  hall  with  a 
thousand  strange  contortions.  The  old  man  sprang  up 
and  pursued  it,  vainl}'  striving  to  seize  it,  cr3ung,  — 

"  My  soul,  m}'  soul !  " 

The  mainspring  bounded  before,  from  side  to  side, 
and  he  could  not  catch  it. 

At  last  Pittonaccio  grasped  it,  and  with  a  frightful 
oath  crushed  it  under  foot. 

Master  Zachary  fell  back.     He  was  dead. 

The  watchmaker's  body  was  buried  among  the  moun- 
tain-peaks of  Andernatt.  Then  Aubert  and  Gerande 
returned  to  Geneva  ;  and,  during  the  long  life  which 
God  granted  them,  the}'  strove  to  buy  back  by  prayer 
the  soul  lost  for  science. 


A  WINTER  AMONG  THE  ICE-FIELDS. 


I. 

THE   BLACK   FLAG. 

rpiIE  priest  of  the  old  church  in  Dunkirk  rose  at  five 
on  the  12th  of  May,  IS — ,  to  say,  as  was  his  wont, 

the  first  low  mass,  attended  by  a  few  pious  fishers  only. 
Clad  in  his  sacerdotal  robes,  he  was  on  his  way  to 

the  altar,  when  a  man  entered  the  sacristy,   looking 

happy  and  yet  bashful.     He  was  a  sailor  of  sixty  years, 

still  strong  and  robust,  with  a  good  honest  face. 
"  Mr.  Priest,"  he  cried,  "  stop,  if  you  please." 
"  What  ails  3'ou  so  early  in  the  morning,  Jean  Corn- 

butte?"  replied  the  priest. 

"  What  ails  me?    A  strong  desire  to  hug  you." 
"  Well,  after  the  mass,  at  which  you  are  to  assist." 
"  The  mass  ?  "  replied  the  old  sailor,  laughing.    "  Do 

j'ou  think  you're  going  to  saj-  mass  now,  and  that  I'm 

going  to  let  you  do  it  ? " 

"  And  why  should  I  not  say  my  mass?  "  asked  the 

priest.     "  Explain  yourself.    The  third  bell  has  rung." 

168 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         169 

"  Let  it  ring !  "  said  Jean  Corubutte.  "  It  shall  ];ing 
many  more  times  to-day,  Mr.  Priest ;  for  you  promised, 
me  to  bless  the  marriage  of  my  son  Louis  and  my  niece 
Marie  Avith  your  own  hands." 

"  lie  has  come  then  !  "  cried  the  priest  jo^-fully. 

"He's  almost  here,"  replied  Cornbutte,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "  The  man  on  the  lookout  signalled  at  da^-- 
dawn  our  brig,  which  you  ^'ourself  baptized  by  the  fine 
name  of  '  The  Young  Adventurer.' " 

"  I  congratulate  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
old  friend,"  said  the  priest,  pulling  off  his  stole  and 
chasuble.  "  I  remember  our  agreement.  The  curate 
shall  take  my  place,  and  I  will  hold  mj-self  at  yom*  dis- 
posal until  your  dear  son's  arrival." 

"And  I  promise  you  that  he'll  not  keep  you  fasting 
long,"  replied  the  sailor.  "You  have  already  pro- 
claimed the  banns,  and  you  will  onlj'  have  to  absolve 
the  sins  which  ma^^  have  been  committed  betwixt  sea 
and  sky  in  the  North  Sea.  It  was  a  splendid  idea  of 
mine  to  have  the  wedding  on  the  ver^^  da}-  of  Louis' 
arrival ;  so  that  he  should  step  directly  from  his  brig  to " 
the  church." 

"  Go  and  get  every  thing  ready,  Cornbutte." 

"  I  lly,  Mr.  Priest.     I'll  see  you  soon." 

The  old  tar  hurried  home  to  his  house  on  the  wharf 
of  the  commercial  harbor,  where  he  had  a  fine  view  of 
the  North  Sea,  of  which  he  was  very  proud. 

Jean  Cornbutte  had  amassed  considerable  money  for 
15 


170         A    WINTER   AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

oue  in  his  station.  After  commanding  for  man}-  3'eara 
the  vessels  belonging  to  a  rich  ship-owner  of  Ila^Tc,  he 
settled  down  in  his  native  city,  where  he  built  the  brig 
"  Young  Adventurer,"  on  his  own  account.  Several 
vo^-ages  north  proved  successful ;  and  the  ship  alwaj-s 
found  it  eas}^  to  sell  her  cargoes  of  wood,  u'on,  and  tar 
at  good  prices.  Jean  Cornbutte  then  gave  up  the  com- 
mand to  his  son  Louis,  a  fine  fellow  of  thu't}',  who,  if 
we  ma}-  believe  all  the  coaster  captains  said,  was  the 
bravest  sailor  in  Dunkirk. 

Louis  Cornbutte  had  gone  away  deepl}-  in  love  with 
his  father's  niece,  Marie,  who  found  the  days  of  his 
absence  very  long.  Marie  was  hardly  twenty  years 
old.  She  was  a  beautiful  Flemish  girl,  with  a  few 
di'ops  of  Dutch  blood  in  her  veins.  Her  dying  mother 
had  confided  her  to  her  brother,  Jean  Cornbutte,  who 
loved  her  like  an  own  child,  and  foresaw  a  source  of 
true  and  lasting  happiness  in  the  projected  union. 

The  arrival  of  the  brig,  signalled  from  below,  con- 
cluded an  important  commercial  operation  which  Jean 
expected  to  find  most  profitable.  "  The  Young  Ad- 
venturer," which  set  out  three  months  before,  now  re- 
turned from  Bodoe  on  the  west  coast  of  Norwa}^,  and 
had  made  a  verj-  quick  trip. 

On  reaching  home,  Jean  Cornbutte  found  the  whole 
house  astu".  Marie,  with  a  radiant  face,  was  in  her 
wedding-dress. 

"  Provided  the  brig  does  not  arrive  before  us  ! '  said 
she. 


A    WINTER   AMONG   TUE   ICE-FIELDS.         171 

"  Make  haste,  little  one  !  "  replied  Jeau  Cornbutte  ; 
"  for  the  wind  blows  from  the  north,  and  '  The  Young 
Adventui'er'  is  a  fast  sailer  in  a  good  breeze." 

"Are  our  friends  all  warned,  dear  uncle?"  asked 
Marie. 

"  They  are  warned." 

"  And  the  priest  and  the  notar}'?" 

"  Be  easy !  You're  the  only  one  who  keeps  us  wait- 
ing." 

At  this  moment  Father  Clerbaut  came  in. 

""Well,  old  Cornbutte,"  he  cried,  "you  are  in  luck. 
Your  ship  has  come  in  just  as  the  government  is  about 
to  make  a  contract  for  large  stores  of  wood  for  the 
navy." 

"  AYhat  is  that  to  me?"  replied  Jean  Cornbutte. 
"  The  government  has  some  one  else  to  think  of." 

"Of  com-se,  Mr.  Clerbaut," said  Marie,  "we  think 
of  but  one  thing,  —  Louis'  return." 

"I  don't  deny  that,"  replied  their  friend.  "But 
then  these  supplies  "  — 

"  And  you  must  come  to  the  wedding,"  replied  Corn- 
butte, interrupting  the  merchant,  and  squeezing  his  hand 
so  hard  that  he  nearl}-  crushed  it. 

' '  These  supplies  of  wood  "  — 

"And  all  our  friends  on  sea  and  on  shore,  Clerbaut. 
I've  invited  everybody,  and  I  will  invite  the  whole 
ship's  company." 

"And  we're  going  to  wait  on  the  pier?"  asked 
Marie. 


172         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

"  I  believe  you,  m}'  girl,"  replied  Jean  Cornbutte. 
"  We'll  march  two  by  two,  violins  at  the  head." 

The  guests  soon  arrived.  Although  very  early  in 
the  morning,  no  one  refused  the  invitation.  All  vied 
in  congratulating  the  good  sailor  they  were  so  fond  of. 
Meanwhile  Marie,  on  her  knees,  was  changing  her 
prayers  to  God  to  anthems  of  praise.  She  soon  re- 
turned, lovely  and  in  festal  array,  and  had  her  cheek 
kissed  by  all  the  old  women,  and  her  hand  vigorously 
shaken  b}^  all  the  men ;  then  Jean  Cornbutte  gave  the 
signal  for  departure. 

It  was  a  curious  sight  to  see  the  joyous  troop  set  out 
for  the  beach  at  sunrise.  The  news  of  the  brig's  arri- 
val had  spread  through  the  port ;  and  man}'  night- 
capped  heads  were  stretched  from  windows  and  half- 
open  doors.  From  every  side  came  sincere  compli- 
ments and  flattering  salutations. 

The  wedding-party  reached  the  wharf  amid  a  concert 
of  praises  and  blessings.  The  weather  was  superb  ;  and 
the  sun  seemed  anxious  to  make  one  of  the  company. 
A  fine  north  wind  made  the  waves  foam,  and  a  few 
fishing-sloops,  close-trimmed,  on  their  way  out,  cut  the 
sea  in  deep  furrows. 

The  two  Dunkirk  .piers  which  prolonged  the  harbor 
quay  projected  far  out  into  the  ocean.  The  wedding- 
guests  extended  the  whole  length  of  the  northern  pier, 
and  soon  reacihed  a  little  cottage  at  its  farthest  end, 
where  the  harbor-master  lived. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         173 

Jean  Corubutte's  brig  came  nearer  and  nearer.  The 
wind  freshened,  and  "The  Young  Adventurer"  ran 
along  under  topsails,  foresail,  spanker,  topgallants,  and 
royals.  J03'  seemed  to  reign  on  board  as  well  as  on 
shore.  Jean  Cornbutte,  spj'-glass  in  hand,  responded 
merrily  to  his  friends'  questions. 

"It  is  indeed  m}'  lovelj'  brig!"  he  cried,  "neat 
and  tidy,  as  if  just  setting  sail  from  Dunliirk.  Xot  a 
damage  ;  not  a  rope  gone." 

"  Do  3'ou  see  your  son,  the  captain?"  asked  some 
one. 

"  Xo,  not  yet.     Oh  !  he's  at  his  post." 

"  A^liy  doesn't  he  hoist  his  flag?  "  asked  Clerbaut. 

' '  I  don't  know,  old  friend  ;  but  of  com'se  he  has 
some  good  reason." 

"  Your  spy-glass,  uncle,"  said  Marie,  snatching  it 
from  liim.     "  I  must  be  first  to  see  him." 

"  But  he's  my  son,  miss  !  " 

"  He's  been  your  son  for  thirty  years,"  replied  the 
young  girl,  laughing  ;  "  and  he's  only  been  m}'  lover  for 
two  years." 

"The  Young  Adventurer"  was  now  in  full  sight. 
The  crew  were  preparing  to  anchor.  The  topsails  were 
clewed  up.  One  might  even  recognize  the  sailors  who 
climbed  into  the  rigging.  But  neither  Marie  nor  Jean 
Cornbutte  had  yet  spied  out  the  captain  of  the  brig. 

"  My  faith,  there's  the  mate,  Ancb-6  Yasling  !  "  cried 
Clerbaut. 

15* 


174         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

"  There's  Fidele  Misouue,  the  carpenter  !  "  replied  a 
bj'stander. 

' '  And  friend  Penellan  !  "  said  another,  waving  his 
hand  to  the  sailor  in  question. 

"  The  Young  Adventurer  "  was  not  more  than  three 
cables'  lengths  from  port,  when  a  black  flag  flew  \v^  the 
brigatine-3'ard.     There  was  mourning  on  board. 

A  feeling  of  terror  ran  through  ever^^  soul,  and 
through  the  3'oung  bride's  heart.  The  brig  came  sadly 
into  port,  and  a  chill  silence  reigned  upon  deck.  Soon 
it  passed  the  end  of  the  wharf.  Marie,  Jean  Corn- 
butte,  and  their  friends,  hastened  to  the  quay  where  it 
was  to  land,  and  were  on  board  in  an  instant. 

"My  son!"  said  Jean  Cornbutte,  who  could  only 
articulate  those  words. 

The  brig's  crew,  their  heads  uncovered,  pointed  to 
the  black  flag. 

Marie  uttered  a  cr}'  of  distress,  and  fell  into  old 
Cornbutte's  arms. 

Andre  Vasling  had  brought  back  "  The  Young 
Adventurer  ;  "  but  Louis  Cornbutte,  Marie's  lover,  was 
no  longer  on  board. 


II. 

JEAN  cornbutte's  PLAN. 


As  soon  as  the  young  girl,  cared  for  by  kind  friends, 
had  loft  the  ship,  the  mate,  Andre  Vasling,  related  to 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         175 

Jean  Cornbutte  the  frightful  eveut  which  had  robbed 
him  of  liis  sou,  and  which  the  ship's  book  reported  in 
the  following  term  :  — 

"  Near  the  Maelstrom,  April  2G,  in  rough  weather,  and 
with  a  south-west  wind,  the  ship  saw  signals  of  distress 
fl^-ing  from  a  schooner  to  the  leeward.  This  schooner, 
its  mizzenmast  gone,  was  scudding  towards  the  whirl- 
pool under  bare  poles.  Capt.  Louis  Cornbutte,  seeing 
the  craft  rushing  upon  death,  resoh'ed  to  board  her. 
Despite  the  wry  looks  of  his  men,  the  long-boat  was  put 
to  sea,  and  he  got  into  it  with  sailor  Cortrois  and  Pierre 
Xouquet  the  helmsman.  The  crew  followed  them  with 
their  eyes,  vmtil  the}'  disappeared  in  mist.  Night  came 
on.  The  sea  grew  more  and  more  rough.  '  The 
Young  Adventurer,'  drawn  by  the  currents  which 
abound  in  those  quarters,  was  in  danger  of  being 
sucked  in  bj'  the  Maelstrom.  She  was  forced  to  scud 
before  the  wind.  Vainly  she  cruised  for  da3-s  about 
the  ill-omened  spot.  The  ship's  boat,  the  schooner, 
Capt.  Louis  Cornbutte,  and  the  two  sailors,  were  never 
seen  again.  Andre  Vasling  called  the  crew  together, 
took  command,  and  set  sail  for  Dunkirk." 

Jean  Cornbutte,  having  read  this  brief  report,  wept 
bitterl}' ;  and  his  onh'  comfort  was,  tliat  his  son  Iiad 
died  to  save  his  fellow-men.  Then  the  poor  father  left 
the  brig,  the  ver}-  sight  of  which  affected  him,  and 
returned  to  his  desolate  home. 

The  sad  news  soon  spread  through  Dunkirk.     The 


176         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

old  sailor's  man^y  friends  came  to  him  "with  sincere 
s^Tupatlw.  Then  "The  Young  Adventurer's"  crew 
gave  more  complete  details  of  the  accident ;  and  Andre 
Vasling  gave  Marie  a  most  minute  account  of  her 
lover's  self-sacrifice. 

Jean  Cornl)utte,  after  weeping,  reflected ;  and  the 
very  next  day,  as  Andre  Vasling  entered,  he  said,  — 

"  Are  3'ou  very  sure  m}'  son  is  dead,  Andro  ? " 

"  Alas,  yes  !  Master  Jean,"  replied  Andre  Vasling. 

"  And  did  you  make  all  possible  search  for  him?  " 

"  Ever}"  thing  possible  was  done,  M.  Cornbutte  ;  but, 
unfortunately,  it  is  onl}^  too  certain  that  he  and  his  two 
men  were  swallowed  up  b}'  the  Maelstrom." 

"  Would  you  like  to  keep  the  second  command  on 
board  the  brig,  Andre  ?  " 

"  That  depends  on  the  captain,  M.  Cornbutte." 

"I  shall  be  captain  myself,  Andre,"  replied  the  old 
sailor.  "I  shall  unload  m^'  ship  rapidly,  muster  m}'' 
crew,  and  go  in  search  of  m}'  son." 

"  Yom-  son  is  dead,"  replied  Andre  Vasling  ear- 
nestl}'. 

"  Possibh',  Andre  ! "  replied  Jean  Cornbutte  hastily  ; 
"  but  possibl}',  also,  he  saved  himself.  I  will  scour  every 
port  in  Norway  where  he  ma}"  have  been  driven,  and 
when  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  see  him  again,  then  only 
will  I  return  to  die." 

Andre  Vasling,-  seeing  that  his  decision  was  not  to 
be  shaken,  said  no  more,  but  retired. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         177 

Jean  Cornbntte  at  once  confided  his  plan  to  his  niece, 
and  saw  a  ray  of  hope  gleam  through  her  tears.  It 
had  not  yet  occurred  to  the  young  girl's  mind,  that  her 
lover's  death  might  be  uncertain  ;  but  no  sooner  had 
the  seeds  of  this  new  hope  been  cast  into  her  heart, 
then  she  gave  herself  up  to  it  without  reserve. 

The  old  sailor  decided  that  "  The  Young  Adven- 
turer "  should  put  to  sea  immediately'.  The  well-built 
brig  needed  no  repairs.  He  announced,  that,  if  the 
crew  liked  to  embark  with  him,  there  need  be  no  changes 
on  board.  He  would  simply  take  his  son's  place  as 
commanding  officer. 

Not  one  of  Louis  Cornbutte's  friends  refused  this 
summons  ;  and  they  formed  a  band  of  hard}-  sailors, 
Alain  Turquiette,  Fidele  Misonne  the  carpenter, 
PeneUan,  who  replaced  Pierre  Xouquet  as  helmsman, 
Gradliu,  Aupic,  and  Gervique,  brave  and  well-tried 
men. 

Jean  Cornbutte  again  proposed  to  Vasling  to  take 
the  second  command.  The  mate  was  a  skilful  seaman, 
as  had  been  well  proved  b}-  the  way  in  which  he 
brought  "The  Young  Adventurer  "  into  port.  How- 
ever, for  what  reason  we  know  not,  Andre  Vasling 
made  some  objections,  and  asked  time  to  consider. 

"As  you  like,  Andi-e,"  replied  Cornbutte.  "Only 
remember,  that,  if  3'ou  accept,  3'ou  will  be  welcome 
among  us." 

Jean  Cornbutte  had  a  faithful  man  in  Penellan,  who 


178         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

had  made  man}'  voyages  with  him.  Little  Marie  had 
passed  many  a  long  winter  evening  in  his  arms  when 
on  shore ;  so  that  he  felt  a  fatherl}-  atFection  for  her, 
the  3'onng  girl  returning  it  with  filial  love.  Penellan 
urged  on  the  brig's  equipment,  the  more  so,  that  he 
thought  Andre  Vasling's  sense  of  responsibility  as 
captain  might  have  hindered  his  making  every  possible 
effort  to  recover  the  shipwrecked  men. 

One  week  had  not  elapsed  when  ' '  The  Young  A.d- 
venturer  "  was  ready  to  put  to  sea.  Instead  of  mer- 
chandise, she  was  thoroughly"  stocked  with  salt  meat 
and  fish,  biscuit,  barrels  of  flour,  potatoes,  pork,  wine, 
brand}',  coffee,  tea,  and  tobacco. 

The}'  were  to  sail  May  22.  The  night  before,  Andre 
Vasling,  who  had  given  Jean  Cornbutte  no  reph', 
went  to  his  house.  He  was  still  wavering,  and  knew 
not  what  to  do. 

Jean  Cornbutte  was  not  at  home,  although  the  front- 
door stood  open.  Andre  went  into  the  hall,  close  to 
the  3'oung  girl's  chamber  ;  and  sounds  of  animated  con- 
versation struck  his  ear.  He  listened  attentivelj-,  and 
recognized  the  voices  of  Marie  and  Penellan. 

The  discussion  had  undoubtedly  been  a  lengthy  one  ; 
for  the  3'oung  girl  seemed  to  be  obstinatel}'  opposed  to 
the  Breton  sailor's  ad^'ice. 

"  How  old  is  my  uncle  Cornbutte?  "  said  Marie. 

"  Somewliere  about  sixty  3'ears  old,"  replied 
Penellan. 


A    WINTER   AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS.         179 

"  Well,  is  he  not  going  to  run  all  sorts  of  risks  to 
find  liis  son  ?  " 

"  Our  captain  is  still  robust,"  replied  the  sailor. 
"  His  bod3-'s  of  the  good  old  oak,  and  his  muscles  firm 
as  iron  :  so  I  am  not  afraid  to  have  him  take  to  the 
sea  again. " 

"  Good  Penellan,"  replied  Marie,  "when  one  loves, 
one  is  strong.  Besides,  I  have  perfect  faith  in 
Heaven's  help.  You  understand  me,  and  3-ou  will 
help  me  ?  " 

"  Xo,  "  said  Penellan.  "It  is  impossible,  Marie. 
"Who  knows  where  we  shall  drift,  or  what  we  may  have 
to  suffer  ?  How  man}'  strong  men  I've  seen  perish  in 
those  seas !  " 

"Penellan,"  replied  the  young  girl,  "nothing  can 
hinder  me  ;  and,  if  you  refuse  me,  I  shall  siraplj'  think 
that  you  have  ceased  to  love  me." 

Andre  Vasling  understood  the  resolve.  He  re- 
flected an  instant ;  and  his  mind  was  made  up. 

"Jean  Cornbutte,"  said  he,  approaching  the  old 
sailor,  who  now  came  in,  "I  am  with  j'ou.  The 
causes  which  prevented  my  re-embarking  have  van- 
ished, and  3'ou  may  count  on  my  loj'alty." 

"  1  never  doubted  it,  Andre,"  said  Jean,  gi-asping 
his  hand.  "  Marie,  m}-  child  !  "  he  called  in  a  louder 
tone. 

Marie  and  Penellan  immediately  appeared. 

"  We  set  sail  to-morrow  at  daybreak,  on  ebb-tide," 


180         A    WINTER   AMONG    THK    ICE-FIELDS. 

said  the  old  sailor.  "Poor  Marie!  this  is  our  last 
evening  together." 

"  Uncle  !  "  cried  Marie,  falling  into  his  arms. 

"Marie,  God  helping,  I  will  bring  3-011  back  your 
lover.  " 

"  Yes,  we  will  find  Louis,"  added  Andre  Vasling.  - 

"  You  are  one  of  us,  then?  "  asked  Penellan  sharply. 

"  Yes,  Penellan,  Andre  Vasling  is  to  be  ray  mate," 
replied  Cornbutte. 

"  Oh,  ho !  "  said  the  Breton  with  a  strange  look. 

"  And  his  counsel  will  be  most  useful  to  us  ;  for  he 
is  bold  and  skilful." 

"  But  3'ou  j'ourself,  captain,"  replied  Vasling, 
"will  be  head  in  everj'  thing;  for  you  are  still  as 
strong  as  you  are  wise." 

"Well,  friends,  good-b}'  till  to-morrow.  Go  on 
board  and  make  the  last  preparations.  Good-night, 
Andre  !  good-night,  Penellan  !  " 

Mate  and  sailor  went  out  together.  Jean  Cornbutte 
and  Marie  were  left  alone  together.  Man}'  tears  were 
shed  on  that  sad  evening.  Cornbutte,  seeing  Marie  so 
unhappy,  resolved  to  spare  her  a  parting  scene  b}'  leav- 
ing home  to-morrow  without  seeing  her  again  :  so  that 
night  he  gave  her  his  last  kiss,  and  was  on  foot  by 
three  in  the  morning. 

The  departure  drew  all  the  old  sailor's  friends  to  the 
wharf.  The  priest  who  was  to  have  blessed  the  union 
of  Marie  and  Louis  came  to  give  the  ship  his  farewell 


A    WINTER   AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS.         181 

benediction.  Rough  grasps  of  the  hand  were  silently 
exchanged,  and  Jean  Cornbutte  went  on  board. 

The  crew  was  complete.  Andre  Vasling  gave  the 
last  orders.  The  sails  were  set,  and  the  brig  went 
rapidly  off  under  a  fine  north-west  wind ;  while  the 
priest,  erect  amid  the  kneeling  crowd,  committed  the 
vessel  to  divine  ProA^dence. 

"Where  did  the  ship  go?  It  followed  the  perilous 
road  on  which  so  many  have  been  wrecked.  It  had 
no  fixed  destination.  It  must  expect  many  dangers, 
and  brave  them  unhesitatingly.  God  alone  knew 
where  it  should  land.     God  guided  it. 


ni. 

A   RAT   OF   HOPE. 

At  this  time  of  yevLV  the  weather  was  favorable,  and 
the  crew  might  hope  to  reach  the  scene  of  shipwi'eck 
speedily. 

Jean  Cornbutte's  plan  was  very  simple.  He  in- 
tended to  put  into  port  at  the  Faroe  Islands,  whither 
the  north  wind  might  have  driven  the  victims  ;  then,  if 
he  could  not  find  any  traces  of  their  landing  in  that 
quarter,  he  would  extend  his  researches  beyond  the 
Korth  Sea,  ransack  the  western  coast  of  Norwa}'  as  far 
as  Bodoe,  the  spot  nearest  the  shipwreck,  and  even 
farther,  if  need  be. 

16 


182         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

Andre  Vaslhig,  contrary  to  the  captain's  opinion, 
thouglit  they  should  first  explore  the  shores  of  Iceland  ; 
but  Penellan  proved  to  him,  that,  at  the  time  of  the 
catastrophe,  the  gale  blew  from  the  west ;  which,  while 
inspiring  a  hope  that  the  luckless  men  had  escaped  the 
Maelstrom,  indicated  that  they  had  been  cast  upun  the 
coast  of  Norway. 

The}'  accordingly  resolved  to  follow  the  shore-line 
as  closely  as  possible  in  search  of  any  traces  of  their 
passage. 

The  daj'  after  their  departure  Cornbutte,  bending 
over  a  map,  was  deep  in  thought,  when  a  small  baud 
touched  his  shoulder,  and  a  sweet  voice  said  in  his 
ear,  — 

"  Be  of  good  courage,  uncle." 

He  turned  in  amazement.  Marie  thi'ew  her  arms 
around  him. 

"  Marie,  my  child,  on  board  ! "  he  cried. 

"  A  woman  may  well  go  in  search  of  her  husband, 
when  a  father  sets  sail  to  save  his  sou." 

"  Poor  Marie !  How  can  3'ou  endure  our  hardships? 
Don't  you  know  that  3'our  presence  may  retard  our 
search  ?  " 

"  No,  uncle  ;  for  I  am  strong.  " 

"  Who  knows  where  we  may  be  diiven,  Marie .''  See 
this  map.  "We  are  approaching  regions  most  dan- 
gerous even  to  us  old  tars,  hardened  to  all  the  perils 
of  the  sea  —  and  j'ou,  weak  child?" 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE    ICE-FJELDS.         183 

"But,  uncle,  I  come  of  a  race  of  sailors.  I  grew 
up  ou  tales  of  storm  and  sti^uggie.  I  am  with  you  and 
m}'  old  friend  Penellan.  " 

"  Penellan  !     Then  he  hid  3-ou  on  board  ?  " 

"Yes,  uncle;  but  not  till  he  saw  that  I  was  deter- 
mined to  do  it  without  his  aid." 

"  Penellan !  "  cried  Jean  Cornbutte. 

Penellan  entered, 

"Penellan,  what's  done  can't  be  undone;  but  re- 
member that  you  are  responsible  for  Marie's  life." 

"Be  easy,  captain,"  replied  Penellan.  "The  little 
thing  is  brave  and  strong,  and  will  yet  prove  our  guar- 
dian angel.  And  then,  captain  you  know  m}'  motto, 
'  All's  for  the  best  in  this  world.'  " 

The  young  girl  was  given  a  cabin,  which  the  sailors 
arranged  in  a  few  moments,  striving  to  make  it  as 
comfortable  as  possible  for  her." 

Eight  days  after  "The  Young  Adventurer"  made 
port  at  Faroe  ;  but  the  most  careful  explorations  were 
fruitless.  No  shipwrecked  man,  no  debris  from  a  ship- 
wi'eck,  had  been  seen  there.  The  whole  story  of  the 
accident  was  new  to  them.  The  brig,  therefore,  re- 
sumed her  voj'age,  after  ten  days'  dela}-,  about  the 
10th  of  June.  The  sea  was  calm,  the  wind  stead}'. 
The  vessel  sped  rapidly  towards  the  coast  of  Norway, 
which  was  explored  with  no  result. 

Jean  Cornbutte  then  resolved  to  go  to  Bodoe.  Per- 
haps he  might   learn  the   name   of  t]^e   schooner  to 


184        A' WINTER  AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

whose   aid   Louis   and   his   two   comrades   had    hast- 
ened. 

The  30th  of  June  the  brig  cast  anchor  in  that  port. 

There  the  authorities  handed  Cornhutle  a  bottle 
found  on  the  shore,  containing  a  paper  with  these 
words,  — 

"April  26.  —  On  board  'The  Frooern,'  'The 
Young  Adventui'er's '  long-boat  alongside.  We  are 
being  carried  upon  the  ice  b}'  the  current.  Heaven 
have  mercy  upon  us  !  " 

Jean  Cornbutte's  first  thought  was  to  thauk  God. 
He  believed  himself  on  his  son's  track.  "The  Froo- 
ern was  a  Norwegian  schooner,  which  had  not  been 
heard  from,  but  which  had  evidentl}'  been  driven  north. 

There  was  not  a  da}'  to  lose.  "  The  Young  Adven- 
turer "  was  put  in  order  to  dare  the  dangers  of  polar 
seas.  Fidele  Misonne,  the  carpenter,  examined  her 
careful!}-,  and  assured  himself  that  she  was  solidly 
built  to  resist  the  shocks  of  the  ice. 

B}'  Penellan's  forethought,  he  ha^dng  been  on  a 
whaling- vo3'age  in  the  Arctic  Ocean,  woollen  blankets, 
fur  wraps,  seal-skin  moccasons,  and  wood  for  sledges 
to  traverse  ice-fields,  were  taken  on  board.  The}-  laid 
in  an  extra  supply  of  alcohol  and  coal ;  for  they 
might  be  obliged  to  spend  the  winter  on  some  point  of 
Greenland.  They  also  procured  at  a  large  price^  and 
with  great  difficulty,  a  quantity  of  lemons,  to  ward  off 
or  to   cure   scm-vy,  —  a  terrible   disease  which   deci 


A    WIXTER   AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS.         185 

mates  explorers  in  these  frozen  regions.  Their  salt 
provisions,  biscuits,  and  brandy  being  somewhat  in- 
creased, began  to  fill  np  the  hold ;  for  the  steward's 
room  no  longer  sufficed  for  them.  The}'  also  provided 
a  quantit}'  of  pemmican,  an  Indian  preparation  of  dried 
meat,  which  concentrates  a  great  deal  of  nourishment 
into  a  small  compass. 

By  Cornbutte's  orders,  they  took  on  board  "The 
Young  Adventurer  "  saws  for  cutting  through  the  ice, 
as  well  as  picks  and  wedges  for  breaking  it.  The  cap- 
tain delayed  pm-chasing  dogs  to  draw  the  sledges  until 
they  reached  Greenland. 

The  whole  crew  were  busied  with  these  preparations, 
and  displayed  great  activity.  The  sailors  Aupic,  Ger- 
vique,  and  Gradlin,  eagerl}'  followed  Penellan's  adA^ice, 
who,  from  this  time  up,  persuaded  them  to  wear  no 
woollen,  although  the  temperature  was  quite  low  in 
those  latitudes  13'ing  above  the  polar  circle. 

Penellan,  without  saying  au}'  thiug,  obsei'ved  Andre 
Vasling's  slightest  action.  No  one  knew  where  this 
man  of  Dutch  extraction  came  from ;  but,  being  a 
good  sailor,  he  had  made  two  trips  on  "  The  Young 
Adventurer."  Penellan  found  nothing  ■  to  blame, 
except  that  he  was  too  attentive  to  Marie ;  but  he 
continued  his  watch. 

Thanks  to  the  crew's  activity,  the  brig  was  equipped 
b}'  the  IGth  of  Jul}',  about  a  fortnight  after  her  ai'rival  in 
Bodcie.     It  was  then  the  most  favorable  season  to  ex- 

16* 


186         A    WINTER  AMONG    TEE   ICE-FIELDS. 

plore  the  arctic  seas.  The  ice  had  been  thawing  for 
two  months  ;  and  the  search  could  be  extended  to  the 
utmost  limits.  "  The  Young  Adventurer"  accordingl}' 
set  sail,  and  directed  her  course  towards  Cape  Brewster, 
on  the  eastern  coast  of  Greenland,  latitude  seventy. 


IV. 


IN   THE    STRAITS. 


Towards  the  23d  of  Jul}',  a  reflection  over  the  sea 
announced  the  first  ice-fields,  which,  rising  from  Davis's 
Strait,  sloped  into  the  ocean.  From  this  time  forth 
a  man  was  kept  on  the  lookout,  that  the  ship  might  not 
be  dashed  against  these  enormous  floes. 

The  crew  was  divided  into  two  watches,  —  the  first 
consisting  of  Fidele  Misonne,  Gradlin,  and  Gervique  ; 
the  second,  of  Andi-e  Vasling,  Aupic,  and  Penellan. 
The  watches  only  lasted  two  hours  each  ;  for  in  these 
cold  regions  man's  strength  is  diminished  b}-  one-half. 
Although  ' '  The  Young  Adventurer  "  had  only  reached 
the  sixty- third  degree  of  latitude,  the  thermometer 
was  nine  degrees  Centigrade  below  zero. 

Rain  and  snow  fell  frequentl}'  and  abundantl}'.  In 
fine  weather,  when  the  wind  did  not  blow  too  hard, 
Marie  remained  on  deck ;  and  her  eyes  soon  grew 
accustomed  to  the  savage  aspect  of  the  polar  seas. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         187 

The  1st  of  August  she  was  walking  aft,  talking  with 
her  uncle,  Andi*e,  and  Penellan.  "The  Young  Adven- 
turer "  had  just  entered  a  passage  thi-ee  miles  wide, 
through  which  large  cakes  of  ice  were  floating  rapidl}' 
southward. 

"  "When  shall  we  see  land?  "  asked  the  3'oung  girl. 

"  In  three  or  four  daj-s  at  latest,"  replied  Jean  Corn- 
butt  e. 

"  But  shall  we  find  fresh  signs  of  my  poor  Louis' 
passage  there?" 

"  Perhaps,  child  ;  but  I  fear  we  are  3'et  far  from  our 
jom'ne3-'s  end.  '  The  Frooem  '  ma}-  have  been  driven 
farther  north." 

"It  must  have  been,"  added  Andre  Vasling:  "for 
the  hurricane  which  separated  us  from  the  Norwegian 
craft  lasted  three  daj-s  ;  and  a  ship  can  go  a  long  way 
in  three  days,  when  it  is  disabled,  and  at  the  mercy  of 
the  wind." 

"Permit  me  to  remind  jou,  Mr.  Vasling,"  replied 
Penellan,  "that  it  was  in  the  month  of  April;  that 
the  thaw  had  not  begun ;  and  that,  consequentlj', 
'  The  Frooem '  could  not  have  gone  far  without  being 
blocked  by  the  ice." 

"  And  probably  shattered  to  a  thousand  pieces," 
replied  the  mate,  "  as  her  crew  could  not  handle  her." 

"But_ these  ice-fields,"  rejoined  Penellan,  "offered 
an  easy  road  to  the  mainland,  which  could  not  have 
been  far  distant." 


188         A    WINTER  AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

"  Let  US  hope  for  the  best,"  said  Conibutte,  inter- 
rupting a  dispute  daily  renewed  between  the  mate  and  the 
helmsman.     "  I  think  we  shall  see  land  very  shortly." 

"There  it  is!"  cried  Marie.  "See  those  moun- 
tains ! " 

"No,  my  child,"  replied  Cornbutte.  "Those  are 
icebergs,  the  first  Ave  have  encountered.  They  would 
crush  us  like  glass,  if  we  got  in  their  waj-.  Penellnn 
and  Vasling,  look  out  for  the  ship." 

The  floating  masses,  more  than  fifty  of  which  now 
rose  on  the  horizon,  graduall}'  approached  the  brig. 
Penellan  took  the  helm  ;  and  Jean  Cornbutte,  astride 
the  foretop-gallant-yard-arm,  pointed  out  the  course  to 
be  pursued. 

Towards  evening  the  brig  was  quite  surrounded  by 
these  peaks,  whose  destructive  power  is  so  irresistible. 
They  were,  therefore,  forced  to  strike  across  the 
mountain  fleet ;  for  prudence  forbade  them  to  steer 
straight  forward.  Another  difficulty  was  added  to  this 
danger :  they  could  not  establish  the  exact  direction 
of  the  ship,  all  surrounding  objects  being  in  constant 
motion,  and  ofiering  no  fixed  point  of  view.  Darkness 
increased  with  the  fog.  Marie  went  down  into  her 
cabin  ;  and,  by  the  captain's  order,  the  eight  men  in  the 
crew  were  to  remain  on  deck.  The}'  were  armed  with 
long  iron-shod  boat-hooks  to  keep  off  the  ice-cakes. 

"  The  Young  Adventurer"  soon  entered  so  narrow  a 
strait,   that  the  tips  of  her  ^ards  rubbed  constantly 


A    WINTER  AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS.         189 

against  the  drifting  icebergs,  and  the  jibboom  and 
flying-jibboom  had  to  be  bowsed  in.  The}'  were  even 
obliged  to  trim  the  mainyard  till  it  touched  the 
shrouds.  Fortunately  this  measure  did  not  retard  the 
brig's  progress  ;  for  the  wind  only  reached  the  topsails, 
and  the}'  sufficed  to  carr}'  it  rapidly  along.  Thanks 
to  its  slender  hull,  it  plunged  through  the  valley's  of 
eddjnng  rain,  while  the  ice-cakes  clashed  against  each 
other  with  ominous  cracking  sounds. 

Jean  Cornbutte  came  down  on  deck.  His  gaze 
could  not  pierce  the  surrounding  shadows.  It  became 
necessar}'  to  brail  up  the  topsails  ;  for  the  ship  was  in 
danger  of  grounding,  and  that  would  have  been  death. 

"  Wliat  a  cursed  vo3'age  !  "  muttered  Andi'e  Vasling, 
as  he  stood  afore  with  the  sailors,  who,  boat-hooks  in 
hand,  were  warding  off  the  most  imminent  shocks. 

"  The  fact  is,  that,  if  we  escape,  we  shall  owe  a  fine 
candle  to  our  Lady  of  the  Ice,"  replied  Aupic. 

"  "Who  knows  whether  there  are  not  more  icebergs 
to  traverse  beyond  these?  "  added  the  mate. 

"  And  who  knows  what  we  may  find  behind  them?  " 
rejoined  the  sailor. 

"  Don't  talk  so  much,  3'ou  blab  !  "  said  Gervique, 
"  and  keep  a  good  lookout  alongside.  There'll  be 
time  enough  to  grumble  when  we  get  through.  Bear 
a  hand  with  30ur  boat-hook  !  " 

At  this  mo)iient  an  enormous  peak  of  ice,  entan- 
gled in  the  narrow  passage  which  "  The  Young  Adven- 


190        A    WINTER  AMONG    TEE   ICE-FIELDS. 

turer"  was  crossing,  shot  rapidly  towards  tliem,  and  it 
seemed  impossible  to  escape  it ;  for  it  stopped  np  the 
whole  width  of  the  cliannel,  and  the  brig  conld  not 
possibl}'  put  about. 

"Can  yoxx  move  the  tiller?"  asked  Cornbutte  of 
Penellan. 

"  No,  captain.  The  ship  no  longer  answers  the 
helm." 

"  Halloo  there,  boys  !  "  cried  the  captain  to  his  men. 
"Don't  be  frightened;  and  steady  j'our  boat-hooks 
against  the  gunwale." 

The  iceberg  was  nearly'  sixty  feet  high ;  and,  if  it 
struck  against  the  brig,  she  must  be  crushed.  There 
was  a  long  moment  of  agony ;  and  the  crew  surged 
aft,  abandoning  their  post,  in  spite  of  the  captain's 
order. 

But,  at  the  instant  when  the  berg  was  not  more  than 
half  a  cable's  length  away  from  "  The  Young  Adventur- 
er," a  dull  sound  was  heard,  and  a  perfect  waterspout 
fell  on  the  forepart  of  the  ship,  which  rose  high  in  the 
air  on  the  crest  of  a  huge  wave. 

The  sailors  gave  a  cr}-  of  terror :  but,  when  they 
looked  ahead,  the  ice  had  disappeared ;  the  passag(; 
was  free ;  and  beyond,  a  vast  sheet  of  water,  illumined 
by  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  assured  them  an 
easy  passage. 

"Every  thing*  for  the  best!"  cried  Penellan 
"  Weather  the  top  and  fore  sails." 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         191 

A  phenomenon,  common  in  such  regions,  had  taken 
place.  When  the  i3oating  masses  are  detached  from 
one  another  b}-  the  thaw,  they  are  perfectly  balanced  ; 
but  on  reaching  the  ocean,  where  the  water  is  com- 
paratively' warm,  the}'  soon  wear  awa^-  at  the  base, 
melting  gradually,  and  broken  by  beating  against 
other  ice-floes.  At  last  a  moment  comes  when  the 
centre  of  gravity  is  disturbed,  and  they  sivik.  Onl}',  if 
this  berg  had  capsized  two  minutes  later,  it  would 
have  fallen  upon  the  brig,  and  drawn  her  down  with  it. 


V. 


LrVERPOOL    ISLAND. 


The  brig  now  floated  in  open  water ;  only,  on  the 
horizon,  a  whitish  light  indicated  the  presence  of  sta- 
tionary- plains. 

Jean  Cornbutte  steered  steadily  towards  Cape 
Brewster,  and  was  fast  approaching  regions  of  exces- 
sive cold  ;  for  the  rays  of  the  sun  were  greatly  weak- 
ened b}'  their  obliquit}'. 

The  3d  of  August  the  brig  again  found  herself  in 
the  midst  of  floating  ice.  The  channels  were  barely  a 
cable's  length  in  width  ;  and  "  The  Young  Adventurer  " 
was  forced  to  make  a  thousand  detours,  which  some- 
times brought  her  dead  ahead  of  the  wind. 


192        A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

Penellan  watclied  over  Marie  with  paternal  care, 
and,  in  spite  of  the  cold,  he  made  her  spend  two  or 
three  hours  on  deck  ever}'  day ;  for  exercise  was  one 
of  the  indispensable  conditions  of  health. 

Nor  did  Marie's  courage  fail  her.  She  even  inspired 
the  sailors  by  her  words ;  and  the}^  fairl}'  worshipped 
her.  Andre  Vasling  grew  more  attentive  than  ever, 
and  sought  ever}'  occasion  to  talk  with  her ;  but  the 
young  girl,  as  if  forewarned,  received  his  services  with 
much  coldness.  As  may  be  easil}'  imagined,  the  fu- 
ture rather  than  the  present  formed  the  subject  of  Au- 
di'e's  conversations  ;  and  he  did  not  conceal  how  slight 
he  thought  their  chance  of  finding  the  shipwrecked 
men.  In  his  mind  the}'  were  lost  forever,  and  the 
young  girl  should  commit  herself  to  other  hands. 

Nevertheless,  Marie  did  not  understand  Andro's 
plans  ;  for,  much  to  his  annoyance,  their  conversations 
were  always  cut  short.  Penellan  was  sure  to  find 
some  excuse  for  interrupting  and  destroying  the  effect 
of  Andre's  words  by  his  own  hopeful  views. 

Nor  was  Marie  idle.  By  the  helmsman's  advice  she 
was  preparing  her  winter  wardrobe,  and  she  had  to 
change  her  whole  attire.  The  cut  of  a  woman's  gar- 
ments is  quite  unfit  for  such  cold  latitudes.  She  there- 
fore made  herself  a  pair  of  fur  trousers,  the  hems  of 
which  were  trimmed  with  seal-skin ;  and  her  scant 
skirts  only  came  lialf-way  down  the  leg,  that  they 
might  not  touch  the  snow  which  covers  the  ice-fields  in 


A    WINTER   AMONG   THE   ICE-FiELDS.  193 

winter.  A  fur  cloak,  fitted  closely  to  her  figure,  and, 
adorned  with  a  hood,  protected  the  upper  part  of  her 
body. 

In  their  intervals  of  rest  the  sailors  had  also  made 
themselves  garments  to  protect  them  from  the  cold. 
They  made  great  quantities  of  high  seal-skin  boots, 
with  which  the}'  could  wade  through  the  deep  snow  in 
their  journeys  of  exploration.  In  this  way  they  spent 
the  whole  time  consumcid  in  clearing  the  straits. 

Andi'e  Vasling,  a  sldlful  marksman,  often  shot  the 
water-hirds,  which  hovered  in  countless  flocks  about 
the  ship.  Ptarmigans  and  a  species  of  eider-duck  fur- 
nished the  crew  with  excellent  food,  which  made  a 
change  from  salt  meat. 

Finally  the  brig,  after  a  thousand  circuits,  came  in 
sight  of  Cape  Brewster.  A  boat  was  put  to  sea.  Jean 
Corubutte  and  Penellan  went  on  shore,  and  found  it  a 
perfect  waste. 

The  brig  then  turned  towards  Liverpool  Island,  dis- 
co-sered  by  Capt.  Scoresby  in  1821 ;  and  the  men  cried 
out,  as  they  saw  the  natives  hurrying  down  to  the 
beach.  Communication  was  easily  established,  thanks 
to  the  few  words  of  their  language  known  by  Penellan, 
and  a  few  cpmmon  phrases  which  they  themselves  had 
learned  from  the  whalers  who  frequented  those  regions. 

These  Greenlanders  were  short  and  squat,  being  not 
more  than  four  feet  six  inches  tall.  They  had  a  reddish 
tinge,  round  faces,  and  low  foreheads.  Their  smooth 
17 


194        A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

black  hair  fell  down  their  backs.  Their  teeth  were  bad  ; 
and  they  seemed  to  be  affected  b}-  that  sort  of  leprosy 
peculiar  to  fish-eating  tribes. 

In  exchange  for  bits  of  iron  and  copper,  of  which 
they  were  extremel}'  greed}-,  the  poor  fellows  brought 
bear-furs,  skins  of  sea-calves,  sea-dogs,  sea-v,oIves,  and 
all  those  animals  kuoAvn  under  the  general  name  of 
seals.  Jean  Cornbutte  bought  these  things  verj-  cheap- 
ly, knowing  that  they  would  yet  prove  useful. 

He  then  made  the  native^  understand  that  he  was  in 
search  of  a  wreck,  and  asked  if  the}'  knew  anj-  thing 
of  it.  One  of  them  immediately  drew  a  sort  of  ship  in 
the  snow,  and  indicated  that  something  of  the  kind 
had  been  driven  north  thi'ee  months  before :  he  also 
made  signs  that  the  thaw,  and  breaking-up  of  the  ice- 
fields, had  prevented  them  from  following  it ;  and  in- 
deed, theu"  canoes,  being  very  light,  and  worked  by 
paddles,  could  not  have  stemmed  the  sea  at  such  a 
time. 

These  tidings,  though  imperfect,  renewed  hope  in 
the  sailors'  hearts ;  and  Cornbutte  had  no  trouble  in 
leading  them  farther  on  into  polar  seas. 

Before  leaving  Liverpool  Island,  the  captain  bought 
a  team  of  six  Esquimau  dogs,  who  soon  made  them- 
selves at  home  on  board.  The  vessel  weighed  anchor 
early  on  the  10th  of  August,  and  plunged  into  the 
northern  channel,  with  a  brisk  breeze  blowing. 

They  had  now  come  to  the  longest  da^'s  in  the  year ; 


A    WINTER    AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.  195 

that  is  to  say,  in  tliese  high  latitudes,  the  suu,  which 
never  set,  reached  the  highest  point  of  the  spirals  it 
described  on  the  horizon. 

This  total  absence  of  night  was  not,  however,  very 
perceptible  ;  for  fog,  rain,  and  snow  often  wrapped  the 
ship  in  perfect  darkness. 

Jean  Cornbutte,  resolved  to  reach  the  utmost  point 
possible,  began  to  take  h3'gienic  measures.  The  space 
between  decks  was  shut  tight,  and  the  air  was  renewed 
eveiy  morning  only.  Stoves  were  put  up,  and  the  flues 
so  ananged  as  to  give  the  gi'eatest  amount  of  heat. 
The  crew  were  advised  to  wear  but  one  woollen  shirt 
outside  their  cotton  shirt,  and  to  fasten  theii*  skin  cloak 
closely.  The  fires  were  not  yet  lighted,  as  it  was  im- 
portant to  save  their  stock  of  wood  and  coal  for  colder 
regions. 

Hot  drinks,  such  as  tea  and  coffee,  were  distributed 
regularly  to  the  crew,  night  and  morning  ;  and,  as  meat 
was  a  good  article  of  diet,  they  hunted  the  ducks  and 
widgeons,  which  were  abundant. 

Cornbutte  also  arranged  a  "  crow's-nest,"  at  the 
mainmast-head,  a  sort  of  empt}'  cask,  open  at  one 
end,  from  which  a  constant  lookout  was  kept  over  the 
ice-fields. 

Two  days  after  the  brig  lost  sight  of  Liverpool  Is- 
land, the  temperature  fell  suddenty  under  a  diy  wind. 
Some  signs  of  winter  were  seen.  "  The  Young  Adven- 
turer "  had  not  a  moment  to  lose  ;  for  the  road  would 


196         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

soon  be  entirely  closed.  She  therefore  advanced 
through  the  channels  left  her,  between  cakes  of  ice 
thirty  feet  thick. 

On  the  morning  of  Sept.  3,  *'  The  Young  Adventurer" 
lay  off  Gael-Hamkes  Bay.  Land  was  thirty  miles  to 
the  leeward.  For  the  first  time  the  brig  was  stopped 
by  a  field  of  ice,  affording  no  passage,  and  measuring 
at  least  a  mile  in  breadth.  They  were  obliged  to  use 
their  ice-saws,  Penellan,  Aupic,  Gradlin,  and  Tiu*- 
ginette  were  ordered  out  to  use  the  saws,  which  were 
placed  just  beyond  the  ship.  The  cutting-line  was  so 
arranged,  that  the  current  might  cany  away  the  frag- 
ments detached.  The  whole  crew  worked  nearly  tvven- 
ty  hours  at  the  job.  They  found  it  extremely  hard  to 
keep  their  footing  on  the  ice.  Thej'  were  often  forced 
to  stand  waist  deep  in  water ;  and  their  seal-skin 
clothes  were  but  partially  watei-proof. 

Besides,  in  these  high  latitudes,  all  excessive  labor  is 
soon  followed  by  utter  exhaustion ;  for  the  breath 
rapidly  gives  out,  and  the  strongest  man  has  to  malie 
frequent  pauses. 

At  last  a  passage  was  opened ;  and  the  brig  was 
towed  beyond  the  ice-cake  which  had  so  long  detained 
it. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         197 

VI. 

THE  CRACKTNG   OF   THE   ICE. 

For  several  daj's  "The  Young  Adventurer"  strug- 
gled with  insurmountable  difficulties.  The  men  were 
kept  saw  in  hand,  and  often  had  even  to  use  gun- 
powder to  blast  the  huge  blocks  of  ice  which  stopped 
the  way. 

The  12  th  of  September  the  sea  was  nothing  but  one 
solid  plain,  without  outlet  or  channel,  surrounding  the 
ship  on  every  side ;  so  that  she  could  neither  advance 
nor  recede.  The  temperature  was  now,  on  an  average, 
sixteen  degrees  below  zero.  They  were  laid  up  for  the 
season  ;  and  winter  was  upon  them  with  all  its  dangers 
and  sufferings. 

"  The  Young  Adventurer  "  was  in  longitude  21°  west, 
and  latitude  76°  north,  at  the  mouth  of  Gael-Hamkes 
Bay. 

Jean  Cornbutte  began  his  preparations  for  winter. 
He  fii'st  desired  to  find  a  creek  where  his  ?hip  might  be 
sheltered  from  gales  of  wind  and  the  breakirg-up  of 
the  ice.  The  mainland,  which  was  probably  about  ten 
miles  to  the  west,  would  be  the  only  safe  cover ;  and 
he  resolved  to  go  in  search  of  it. 

The  12th  of  September  he  set  out,  accompanied  by 

Andre  Vasling,  Penellan,  and  two  sailors,  Gradlin  and 

Turquiette.    Each  one  carried  provisions  for  two  da^-s  ; 

for  it  was  not  likely  that  their  excursion  would  be  pro- 

17* 


198         A    WINTER   AMONG    TUE   ICE-FIELDS. 

longed  beyond  that  time  ;  and  they  were  also  provided 
with  buffalo-skins,  on  which  they  were  to  sleep. 

The  snow,  which  had  fallen  abundantly',  and  the  sur- 
face of  which  was  not  yet  frozen,  retarded  them  consid- 
erabl}'.  Thej'  often  sank  breast  deep,  and  could  onl}' 
advance  with  extreme  caution,  lest  thej'  should  fall  into 
some  hole.  Penellan,  who  went  ahead,  tried  ever}- 
depression  of  the  soil  with  his  iron-shod  staff. 

Towards  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  fog  began  to 
grow  thicker ;  and  the  little  baud  were  forced  to  halt. 
Penellan  sought  out  an  ice-peak,  which  would  shield  them 
from  the  wind ;  and  after  eating  something,  regretting 
that  the}''  had  no  hot  drink,  they  spread  their  buffalo- 
skins  upon  the  ground,  wrapped  themselves  up  in  them, 
huddled  close  together,  and  soon  forgot  their  fatigue  in 
sleep. 

The  next  morning  they  found  themselves  buried 
under  a  fall  of  snow  more  than  a  foot  thick.  Happil}- 
the  buffalo-robes,  being  perfectly  impenetrable,  had 
saved  them ;  and  the  snow  had  even  helped  to  keep 
them  warm  by  preventing  the  escape  of  any  heat. 

Jean  Cornbutte  at  once  gave  the  signal  for  departure  ; 
and  towards  noon  he  and  his  comrades  at  last  caught 
sight  of  the  coast,  which  was  at  first  almost  invisible. 
Great  blocks  of  ice  rose  on  the  shore :  then-  varied 
forms,  of  every  shape  and  size,  reproduced  the  phe- 
nomena of  crystallization  on  a  large  scale.  Mpiads  of 
water-birds  flew  up  at  their  approach ;  and  the  seals. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.        190 

who  were  stretched  laz%  on  the  ice,  phinged  hurriedly 
into  the  sea. 

"Upon  my  word!"  said  Penellan,  "we  shall  not 
want  for  fur  nor  game." 

"  These  creatures,"  said  Combutte,  "  all  act  as  if 
they  had  been  visited  by  man  before  ;  for,  in  these  desert 
regions,  they  would  not  naturally  be  so  wild." 

"  Only  Greenlanders  frequent  these  shores,"  replied 
Andi'e  Vasling. 

"But  I  see  no  trace  of  their  passage,  not  the  least 
encampment,  not  the  smallest  hut,"  replied  Penellan, 
mounting  a  small  hillock. 

"O  captain,"  he  cried,  "  come  here!  I  see  a  point 
of  land  which  would  preserve  us  finely  from  the  north- 
west wind." 

"  This  wa}',  boys  !  "  said  Jean  Cornbutte. 

His  comi'ades  followed  him  ;  and  the}'  soon  joined 
Penellan.  He  had  spoken  trulj'.  A  high  point  of  laud 
ran  out  into  the  sea,  forming  a  bold  promontory,  and, 
curving  suddenly,  formed  a  bulwark  of  a  mile  in  thick- 
ness. A  few  cakes  of  ice  were  floating  about  in  this 
sheltered  spot ;  and  the  sea,  shielded  from  the  coldest 
winds,  was  not  yet  frozen  over. 

This  was  an  excellent  winter-harbor.  It  only  re- 
mained to  bring  the  ship  into  it.  Now,  Jean  Cornbutte 
noticed  that  the  neighboring  ice-fields  were  extremel}' 
thick ;  and  it  appeared  most  diflScult  to  cut  a  canal 
for  the  brig.      They  were   therefore   forced  to   seek 


200         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

another  creek  ;  but  Cornbutte  looked  vainly  northward. 
The  coast  was  bare  and  rugged  for  a  long  distance,  and, 
bej'ond  the  cape,  it  was  directty  exposed  to  the  blasts 
of  the  east  wind.  This  baffled  the  captain,  the  more 
so,  that  Vasling  enlarged  on  all  the  evils  of  their  situa- 
tion. Penellan  found  it  hard  work  to  con^'ince  himself 
that  things  were  for  the  best  now. 

The  brig's  only  chance  was  to  seek  a  harbor  on  the 
southern  shore.  They  must,  then,  retrace  then*  steps  ; 
but  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  in  hesitation.  The 
little  band  turned  towards  the  ship,  and  travelled  rapid- 
ly ;  for  their  provisions  were  beginning  to  give  out. 
Jean  Cornbutte  sought  all  along  the  road  for  some 
practicable  channel,  or,  at  least,  some  fissure,  which 
would  permit  of  their  chopping  a  passage  thi'ough  the 
ice  ;  but  in  vain. 

Towards  nightfall  the  sailors  reached  the  ice-hill 
where  they  had  encamped  the  previous  night.  No  snow 
had  fallen  during  the  da}- ;  and  the}'  found  the  marks  of 
then*  bodies  on  the  ice.  Ever}-  thing  was  arranged  for 
the  night,  and  they  lay  down  in  their  buffalo-skins. 

Penellan,  much  vexed  b}'  their  unsuccessful  expedi- 
tion, was  sleeping  lightl}',  when,  in  a  wakeful  moment, 
His  attention  was  caught  by  a  hollow,  rolling  sound.  He 
listened  anxiousty ;  and  the  noise  seemed  so  singular, 
that  he  nudged  Cornbutte. 

"  "What  is  the  matter?  "  asked  the  latter,  whose  wits, 
sailor  like,  walvcned  as  quickly  as  his  body. 


A    WINTER   A3I0NG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         201 

"  Listen,  captain!"  replied  Penellan. 

The  noise  increased  sensibly. 

"  It  can't  be  thunder  in  this  high  latitude,"  said 
Cornbutte,  rising. 

''  I  rather  think  we  shall  have  a  part}'  of  white  bears 
to  deal  with,"  replied  Penellan. 

"  The  deuce  !     But  we  have  seen  none  as  jet." 

"  Sooner  or  later,"  replied  Penellan,  "  we  must  expect 
a  visit  from  them.  Let  us  begin  by  giving  them  a 
warm  reception." 

Penellan,  armed  with  a  gun,  climbed  nimbly  uj)  the 
peak  which  sheltered  them.  The  darkness  being  pro- 
found, and  the  sky  overcast,  he  could  discover  nothing  ; 
but  a  new  incident  soou  proved  that  the  noise  did  not 
come  from  the  neigliborhood.  Jean  Cornbutte  joined 
him  ;  and  i\iQj  remarked  with  terror  that  the  rumbling 
which  had  now  aroused  their  companions  came  from 
beneath  their  feet. 

Fresh  peril  soon  threatened  them.  An  undulating 
motion  of  the  ice-field  was  soon  added  to  the  noise, 
which  now  resembled  claps  of  thunder.  Some  of  the 
men  lost  their  balance,  and  fell. 

"  Attention  ! "  cried  PeneUan. 

"Yes,"  they  answered. 

"  Turquiette,  Gradlin,  where  are  3'ou?" 

"  Here  I  am,"  replied  Turquiette,  shaking  off  the 
snow  that  covered  him. 

"  This  wa}',  Vasling  !  "  cried  Cornbutte  to  the  second 
officer.     "  And  Gradlin?  " 


202        A    WINTER  AMONG   TEE  ICE-FIELDS. 

"Present,  captain;  but  we  are  lost,"  cried  Gradlin 
in  alarm. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Penellan.  "  "We  may  be  saved  in- 
stead." 

Ilardl}'  had  he  uttered  these  words,  when  a  fright- 
ful ci'ack  was  heard.  The  whole  ice-field  broke  up  ;  and 
the  men  had  to  cling  to  their  block,  which  swa^^ed  to 
and  fro.  Spite  of  the  helmsman's  words,  the}-  were  in 
a  most  dangerous  position  ;  for  there  had  been  a  sort  of 
arctic  earthquake.  The  ice  had  "weighed  anchor,"  as 
the  sailors  said.  The  motion  lasted  nearly  two  min- 
utes ;  and  the  unhappy  men  feared  an  abj'ss  might  open 
beneath  their  feet.  Thus  the}'  waited  for  daj-  in  mortal 
terror ;  for  they  could  not  ventm-e  a  step,  without  risk- 
ing death,  and  they  lay  at  full  length  to  escape  being 
swallowed  up. 

With  the  first  rays  of  light,  a  strange  landscape  lay 
before  them.  The  vast  plain,  solid  the  night  before, 
was  now  sundered  in  a  thousand  places  ;  and  the  waves, 
upheaved  bj-  some  submarine  commotion,  had  broken 
the  hea^-}•  layer  of  ice  that  covered  them. 

Jean  Cornbutte's  mind  was  with  his  brig. 

"  My  poor  ship  ! "  he  cried.     "  She  must  be  lost." 

The  darkest  despair  began  to  tinge  every  face.  The 
loss  of  the  ship  involved  their  speedy  death. 

"  Courage,  m}'  friends  !"  rejoined  Penellan.  "  Only 
think  that  last  night's  earthquake  has  opened  us  a  road 
through  the  ice ;  so  that  we  can  bring  our  brig  into 


A    WINTER  AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         203 

winter-quarters.  And  there,  if  I'm  not  niistaJken, 
there  lies  '  The  Young  Aclventiu'er,'  nearer  b}'  a  mile 
than  she  was  before." 

All  hastened  forward,  and  so  incautiously',  that 
Tui-quiette  slipped  into  a  fissure,  and  would  certaiul}- 
have  perished,  had  not  Jean  Cornbutte  caught  him  b}- 
the  hood  ;  so  that  he  escaped  with  a  cold  bath. 

In  ver}-  truth,  the  brig  lay  two  miles  to  windward. 
After  infinite  trouble,  the  little  band  came  up  with  her. 
She  was  in  good  condition  ;  but  her  rudder,  which  they 
had  neglected  to  unship,  had  been  broken  by  the  ice. 


vn. 

GETTING    INTO   WINTER-QUARTERS. 

Penellan  was  right  again.  Every  thing  was  for  the 
best ;  and  this  quaking  of  the  ice  had  opened  a  prac- 
ticable passage  to  the  baj-.  The  sailors  had  only  to 
guide  the  cun-ents  so  as  to  sweep  the  fragments  from 
theii*  path. 

The  19th  of  September  the  brig  was  finally  es- 
tablished, two  cable-lengths  away  from  land,  in  her 
winter-quarters,  and  anchored  fii'mly  on  a  solid  bottom. 
The  next  day  ice  had  formed  round  her  hull : 
soon  it  was  strong  enough  to  bear  a  man's  weight ; 
and  communication  with  the  mainland  was  thus 
established. 


204        A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

According  to  the  custom  of  arctic  navigators,  the 
rigging  remained  as  it  was :  the  sails  were  carefully 
braced  up,  and  provided  with  covers,  the  crow's-nest 
being  left  up,  with  a  view  to  taking  distant  observa- 
tions, as  well  as  to  attract  attention  to  the  ship. 

The  sun  now  hardly  rose  above  the  horizon.  During 
the  June  solstice  it  had  described  lower  and  lower 
curves,  and  would  soon  disappear  entirely. 

The  crew  hastily  made  their  preparations.  Penellan 
was  supervisor-in-chief.  The  ice  soon  grew  thick 
around  the  vessel ;  and  they  feared  the  pressure  might 
be  dangerous.  But  Penellan  waited  until  the  floating 
fragments  united,  and  attained  the  thickness  of  the 
twentieth  part  of  a  foot ;  then  he  ordered  a  bevel  to  be 
cut  round  the  hull,  so  that  the  ice  met  under  the  ship, 
whose  form  it  soon  assumed.  Thus  enclosed  in  a  bed, 
the  brig  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  pressure  of  the 
ice,  which  could  not  stir  her. 

The  crew  then  raised  a  snow -wall,  from  five  to  six 
feet  thick,  round  the  cross-pawls,  and  as  high  as 
the  bulwarks  ;  and  it  soon  grew  hard  as  a  rock.  This 
envelope  prevented  the  heat  from  radiating  out.  A 
sail-cloth  awning,  covered  with  skins,  and  tightly 
closed,  was  erected  on  deck,  and  formed  a  sort  of 
promenade  for  the  crew. 

They  also  built  a  snow  storehouse  on  shore,  where 
the}'  put  many  things  which  cumbered  the  vessel.  The 
partitions  between  the  cabins  were  removed,  so  as  to 


A    WINTER  AMONG    THJ:   ICE-FIELDS.         205 

form  but  one  large  room  from  stem  to  stern.  This 
was  easier  to  warm,  the  ice  and  damp  having  fewer 
corners  to  crouch  in.  It  was  also  easier  to  air  it  thor- 
oughly by  means  of  canvas  bags,  which  opened  out- 
wards. 

Each  one  displayed  great  activity  in  these  various 
preparations ;  and  towards  the  25th  of  September 
every  thing  was  in  order.  Andre  Vasling  had  not 
been  the  least  skilful  in  these  arrangements ;  but  he 
showed  too  great  eagerness  about  Marie  ;  and  although 
she,  absorbed  with  thoughts  of  Louis,  never  noticed  it, 
Jean  Cornbutte  soon  saw  how  matters  stood.  He  dis- 
cussed it  with  Penellan.  He  recalled  several  things 
which  threw  new  light  on  his  mate's  intentions.  Andre 
Vasling  loved  Marie,  and  meant  to  ask  her  uncle  for 
her  as  soon  as  there  was  no  further  doubt  of  her  lover's 
death  :  they  would  then  return  to  Dunkirk  ;  and  Andre 
would  be  very  glad  to  marry  a  pretty  3'oung  girl,  who 
would  be  Jean  Cornbutte's  sole  heii'ess. 

Only  Vasling  often  forgot  his  part,  in  his  impatience. 
He  had  several  times  declared  it  was  useless  to  seek 
the  castaways  ;  and  fresh  signs  had  often  given  him  the 
lie,  as  Penellan  delighted  to  prove.  So  the  mate  cor- 
dially detested  the  helmsman,  who  returned  his  hatred 
with  interest.  The  latter  feared  but  one  thing ;  namel}', 
■that  Vasling  might  succeed  in  sowing  discord  among 
the  men  ;  and  he  persuaded  Cornbutte  to  answer  him 
evasively. 

18 


206         A    WINTER   AMONG    TEE   ICE-FIELDS. 

When  their  arrangements  for  winter  were  complete, 
the  captain  took  various  precautions  for  preserAing  his 
men's  health.  The}'  were  ordered  to  air  their  quarters 
every  morning,  and  to  wipe  the  walls  carefullj'  to  remove 
the  moisture.  They  had  boiling  hot  tea  or  coffee,  night 
and  morning,  that  being  the  best  preservative  against 
cold  ;  then  they  were  divided  into  hunting-parties,  who 
were  to  procure  fresh  meat,  if  possible,  every  day  for 
use  on  board. 

Each  one  was  also  to  take  daily  exercise,  and  not  to 
expose  himself  to  the  air  unless  in  motion  ;  for,  at 
thirt}'  degrees  below  zero,  some  part  of  the  body  might 
freeze  suddenly.  In  such  a  case  th,e  spot  must  be 
rubbed  with  snow,  —  the  onl}'  way  of  saving  the  part 
affected. 

Penellan  also  strongly  recommended  them  to  wash 
m  cold  water  every  morning.  It  required  a  certain 
amount  of  courage  to  plunge  hands  and  face  into  snow, 
thawed  within ;  but  Penellan  set  a  brave  example, 
which  Marie  was  not  slow  to  follow. 

Nor  did  Jean  Cornbutte  forget  to  read  and  pray  :  he 
would  not  leave  room  for  despair  and  fatigue  in  their 
hearts.  Nothing  is  more  dangerous  in  these  desolate 
regions. 

The  sombre  sky  filled  the  soul  with  gloom.  Thick 
snow,  beaten  about  by  violent  winds,  added  to  thf 
customary  horrors.  The  sun  would  soon  disappear. 
If  the  clouds  had  not  been  heaped  above  their  heads, 


A    WINTER  AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS.         207 

they  could  have  enjoj'ed  the  light  of  the  moon,  which 
would  really  become  their  sun  during  the  long  polar 
night ;  but,  while  the  west  wind  lasted,  the  snow  never 
ceased  falling.  Everj^  morning  they  had  to  clear  a 
passage  from  the  ship,  and  cut  a  new  staircase  in  the 
ice  to  descend  to  the  plain.  This  was  easy  work.  The 
steps  once  hewn  out,  a  little  water  was  poured  over 
them,  and  they  hardened  immediately. 

Penellan  also  had  a  hole  dug  in  the  ice,  not  far  from 
the  ship.  Every  day  they  broke  the  fresh  crust  which 
had  formed  on  the  surface  ;  and  the  water  which  they 
drew  from  below  was  warmer  than  that  which  lay 
above.  . 

These  preparations  consumed  about  three  weeks. 
They  then  queried  whether  they  should  push  their  search 
still  farther.  The  ship  was  fast  for  six  or  seven  months, 
and  the  next  thaw  alone  could  open  a  road  for  her 
through  the  ice.  They  therefore  resolved  to  profit  by 
her  forced  imprisonment  to  direct  theu'  coui'se  north- 
ward. 


vni. 

PLAN  OF  EXPLORATION. 

The  9th  of  October  Jean  Cornbutte  held  a  council 
of  war  to  draw  up  a  plan  of  proceedings  ;  and,  in  order 
that  unity  might  increase  then*  zeal  and  courage,  he 


208         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

admitted  the  whole  crew.  Map  in  hand,  he  explained 
their  present  position  clearly. 

The  eastern  coast  of  Greenland  slopes  perpendicu- 
larly to  the  north.  The  discoveries  of  arctic  explorers 
have  defined  the  exact  limits  of  those  regions.  Within 
the  space  of  five  hundred  leagues,  which  separates 
Greenland  from  Spitzbergen,  no  land  had  ^^et  been 
known.  One  island  onlj-.  Shannon  Island,  lay  one 
hundred  miles  north  of  Gael-Hamkes  Ba}',  where  "  The 
Young  Adventurer  "  was  to  winter. 

If  the  Norwegian  vessel,  therefore,  as  was  most 
probable,  had  been  driven  in  that  direction,  supposing 
that  she  could  not  reach  Shannon  Islajid,  Louis  Corn- 
butte  and  his  companions  must  have  sought  shelter  for 
the  winter  there. 

This  opinion  prevailed,  in  spite  of  Andre  Vasling's 
opposition  ;  and  it  was  decided  to  direct  their  ex^Dlora- 
tions  towards  Shannon  Island. 

Preparations  were  immediate^  begun.  They  had 
procured,  on  the  coast  of  Norwa}',  an  Esquimau  sledge, 
built  of  planks  bent  both  ways,  and  made  to  glide 
over  snow  and  ice.  It  was  twelve  feet  long  b}'  four 
feet  broad,  and  could,  consequentl}',  hold  provisions  for 
several  weeks'  supply,  if  necessary.  Fidele  Misonne 
soon  got  it  ready,  working  at  it  in  the  snow  storehouse, 
where  his  tools  were  kept.  For  the  first  time  a  char- 
coal stove  was  set  up  in  the  storehouse  ;  for  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  work  without  it.     The  -stove- 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         209 

pipe  came  out  of  one  of  the  side-avails,  through  a  hole 
pierced  in  the  snow.  But  this  proved  A'cry  inconven- 
ient ;  for  the  heat  of  the  pipe  gradually  melted  the  snow 
about  it,  and  the  opening  increased  '\'isibly.  Jean 
Cornbutte  then  dcAdsed  a  metallic  covering  for  the  pipe, 
which  prevented  the  heat  from  passing  out,  and  proved 
a  complete  success. 

While  Misonne  worked  at  the  pledge,  Penellan, 
assisted  by  Marie,  prepared  a  change  of  clothing  for 
the  journe}'.  Fortunatel}-  they  had  a  large  suppl}-  of 
seal-skin  boots.  Jean  Cornl)utte  and  Andre  Vasling 
looked  out  for  the  provisions.  They  took  a  small  cask 
of  alcohol  to  heat  a  portable  stove  and  spirit-lamp,  a 
good  stock  of  tea  and  coffee,  a  small  tin  of  biscuit, 
two  hundred  pounds  of  pemmican,  and  several  gourds 
of  brandy.  Their  guns  were  to  furnish  fresh  meat  day 
by  da}'.  A  certain  quantity  of  powder  was  put  up  in 
bags.  The  compass,  sextant,  and  telescope  were  care- 
fully packed. 

The  11th  of  October  the  sun  did  not  rise  above  the 
horizon.  They  were  obliged  to  keep  a  lamp  constant- 
ly burning  in  the  sailors'  quarters.  There  Was  no  time 
to  be  lost :  the}-  must  begin  theii"  explorations  at  once, 
and  for  this  reason,  — 

In  the  month  of  Januar}-,  the  cold  would  become  so 
great  as  to  prevent  their  setting  foot  outside,  without 
danger  of  losing  their  lives.  For  two  months,  at  least, 
the  crew  would  be  closely*  housed  ;  then  the  thaw  would 

18* 


210         A    WINTER   AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

set  in,  and  would  continue  until  it  was  time  for  the 
vessel  to  leave  the  ice-fields.  This  thaw  would  put  an 
end  to  all  exploration.  On  the  other  hand,  if  Louis 
Cornbutte  and  his  comrades  still  lived,  it  was  not  likely 
that  they  could  withstand  the  rigors  of  an  arctic 
winter.  They  must  be  rescued  at  once,  or  every  hope 
would  vanish. 

Andre  Vasling  knew  all  this  better  than  an}-  one  else  : 
so  he  resolved  to  put  as  many  obstacles  in  the  expedi- 
tion's wa}'  as  possible. 

The  preparations  for  the  journey  were  concluded  on 
the  20th  of  October.  They  were  then  to  choose  the 
men  who  should  share  in  it.  The  3'onng  girl  must  not 
be  separated  from  both  Cornbutte  and  Penellan.  Now, 
neither  of  them  could  be  spared  from  the  part}'. 

The  question  was,  whether  Marie  could  bear  the 
hardships  of  such  a  trip.  Hitherto  she  had  passed 
through  severe  trials  without  suffering  much ;  for  she 
was  a  sailor's  daughter,  and  accustomed  to  the  perils  of 
the  ocean  from  her  infancj'  up  ;  so  that  Penellan  felt 
no  alarm  in  seeing  her  struggling  against  the  dangers 
of  the  polar  seas,  in  this  fearful  climate. 

They  according!}^  decided,  after  long  discussion, 
that  she  should  accompany  them,  and  that  a  place 
should  be  reserved  for  her,  if  necessary,  on  the  sledge, 
on  which  the}'  built  a  small  wooden  hut,  closed 
securely.  As  for  JMarie,  she  liad  readied  the  height  of 
her  desires  ;  for  she  dreaded  to  be  parted  from  her  two 
protectors. 


A    iV INTER  AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         211 

The  expedition  was  then  formed  as  follows  :  Marie, 
Jean  Cornbntte,  Penellan,  Andre  Yasling,  Anpie,  and 
Fidele  Misonne.  Alain  Turquiette  was  left  in  charge 
of  the  brig,  with  Gervique  and  Gradlin  under  him. 
Fresh  provisions  of  all  kinds  were  taken ;  for  Jean 
Cornbutte,  in  order  to  extend  the  exploration  to  its 
utmost  limits,  had  resolved  to  make  deposits  along  the 
road  ever}'  seven  or  eight  da3"s.  As  soon  as  the  sledge 
was  read}',  the}'  loaded  it,  and  it  was  covered  with  a 
tent  made  of  buffalo-skins.  The  whole  thing  weighed 
about  seven  hundred  pounds,  which  could  be  easily 
drawn  over  the  ice  by  a  team  of  six  dogs. 

The  2 2d  of  October,  according  to  the  captain's 
predictions,  a  sudden  change  occurred  in  the  tempera- 
ture. The  sk}'  cleared  ;  the  stars  shed  a  brilliant  light ; 
and  the  moon  shone  above  the  horizon,  where  it  was  to 
remain  for  a  fortnight.  The  thermometer  fell  to  twent}'- 
five  degrees  below  zero. 

They  were  to  start  the  next  day. 


IX. 

THE   SNOW-HOUSE. 

The  23d  of  October,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, with  a  fine  moon,  the  procession  took  up  its  line 
of  march.     Measures  were   taken  this  time  to  admit 


212         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

of  the  journey's  lasting  a  long  time,  if  necessaiy. 
Jean  Cornbutte  followed  the  coast,  ascending  north- 
ward. The  travellers'  steps  made  no  impression  on 
the  solid  ice.  Cornbutte  was  therefore  obliged  to  guide 
himself  b}'  distant  landmarks.  Sometimes  he  stumbled 
over  a  hillock  bristling  with  jagged  stones,  sometimes 
over  an  enormous  cake  of  ice  which  had  been  forced 
upwards  b}'  pressure. 

At  their  first  stopping-place,  fifteen  miles  from  the 
ship,  Penellan  made  preparations  to  encamp.  The 
tent  was  pitched  against  a  block  of  ice.  Marie  had 
not  suffered  overmuch  from  the  extreme  cold  ;  for,  the 
wind  ha\ing  luckily  died  away,  it  was  much  more  en- 
durable. But  several  times  she  was  forced  to  dismount 
from  the  sledge,  that  torpor  might  not  stop  her  circula- 
tion. Otherwise  her  little  hut,  carpeted  with  skins  by 
Penellan's  care,  was  as  comfortable  as  could  be. 

When  night,  or  rather  the  time  for  repose,  came  on, 
the  little  hut  was  taken  into  the  tent,  and  served  as  a 
bedroom  for  the  young  girl.  The  evening  meal  con- 
sisted of  fresh  meat,  pemmican,  and  hot  tea.  Jean 
Cornbutte,  to  ward  off  the  evil  effects  of  scurv}^,  dis- 
tributed to  each  a  few  drops  of  lemon-juice.  Then 
they  committed  themselves  to  God's  keeping,  and  fell 
asleep. 

After  sleeping  eight  hours,  the}'  resumed  their  line 
of  march.  A  substantial  breakfast  was  dealt  out  to 
the  men  and  do2;s  before  startinsr.     The  ice  beinsi  ex- 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         213 

tremely  smooth,  the  sledge  glided  easily  along  ;  so  that 
at  times  the  men  could  scarcely  keep  up  with  it. 

Some  of  them  soon  began  to  complain  of  dizziness. 
Aupic  and  Misonne  were  troubled  with  their  ej'es. 
The  moonlight,  striking  on  the  vast  white  plains, 
scorched  theu"  vision,  and  made  their  eyes  smart  fear- 
fully. 

A  most  curious  effect  was  also  produced  by  refrac- 
tion. In  walking,  just  as  they  expected  to  bring  their 
feet  down  on  a  hummock,  it  gave  way  beneath  them, 
which  occasioned  man}'  falls,  fortunately  never  very 
serious ;  and  Penellan  turned  them  all  into  jest. 
Nevertheless,  he  advised  them  not  to  take  a  step  with- 
out tr3'ing  the  ground  with  their  iron-bound  sticks. 

Towards  the  1st  of  November,  ten  daj-s  after  their 
start,  the}"  found  themselves  fifty  miles  farther  north. 
Every  one  felt  extremelj'  tired.  Cornbutte  suffered 
from  intense  giddiness ;  and  his  sight  was  sensibly 
affected.  Aupic  and  Fidele  could  only  grope  their 
way  ;  for  their  red-rimmed  e^-es  seemed  fairly-  blistered 
by  the  dazzling  reflection.  Marie  had  been  preserved 
from  such  accidents  by  her  hut,  in  which  she  kept  as 
much  as  possible.  Penellan,  sustained  by  indomitable 
courage,  resisted  every  trial.  But  the  man  who  bore 
up  best,  and  on  whom  cold,  exhaustion,  and  giddiness 
seeniLd  to  have  no  effect,  was  Andre  Vasling.  His  iron 
frame  seemed  made  to  wrestle  with  fatigue.  He  eagerly 
watched  discouragement  stealing  over  the  most  robust, 


214        A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

and  foresaw  that  the  time  was  at  hand  when  they 
would  have  to  return. 

On  the  1st  of  November  their  exhaustion  was  so 
^reat,  that  they  were  forced  to  rest  for  a  day  or  two. 

As  soon  as  a  suitable  spot  was  chosen,  they  began 
to  build  a  camp.  They  determined  to  make  a  snow- 
house,  which  the}'  could  prop  up  against  a  cliif. 
Fidele  Misonne  at  once  traced  out  the  foundations, 
which  measured  fifteen  feet  long  by  five  feet  broad. 
Penellan,  Aupic,  and  Misonne  cut  huge  blocks  of  ice 
with  their  knives,  which  they  brought  to  the  spot, 
and  set  them  up  as  masons  would  have  set  real 
stones.  Soon  the  wall  rose  to  the  height  of  five  feet 
and  an  equal  thickness ;  for  materials  were  plentj-, 
and  the  work  must  be  strong  enough  to  last  several 
days.  The  four  walls  were  completed  in  about  eight 
hours.  A  door  was  cut  on  the  southern  side  ;  and  tl^ 
tent  canvas,  which  was  laid  across  the  walls,  fell  over 
the  door,  and  quite  covered  it.  It  now  onh'  remained 
to  cap  the  whole  with  large  blocks  to  form  a  roof  for 
the  ephemeral  construction. 

After  three  hours  of  painful  labor,  the  house  was 
read}',  and  they  went  into  it,  a  prey  to  fatigue  and  dis- 
couragement. Jean  Cornbutte  suflered  so  much,  that 
he  could  scarcely  move ;  and  Andre  Vasling  turned 
his  aches  to  such  good  account  as  to  wring  a  promise 
from  him  to  extend  his  search  no  farther  in  these  fear- 
ful wastes.     Penellan  knew  not  what  saint  to  invoke. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         215 

He  considered  it  base  and  cowardlj-  to  abandon  his 
comrades  to  groundless  fears,  so  be  strove  to  prove 
their  folly,  but  in  vain. 

However,  although  they  had  determined  to  return, 
rest  was  so  essential,  that  they  made  no  preparations 
to  depart  for  three  daj's. 

The  4th  of  November  Cornbutte  began  to  bury  such 
provisions  as  he  did  not  need,  upon  the  coast.  A 
stick  was  set  up  to  mark  the  spot,  in  the  improbable 
case  that  fresh  explorations  should  lead  him  that  way. 
During  the  whole  four-days'  march,  he  had  left  similar 
deposits  along  the  road,  which  insured  him  food  for 
the  return-journey,  without  the  trouble  of  carrying  it 
both  wa3-s. 

The}'  were  to  start  at  ten  in  the  morning,  on  the  5th 
of  November.  Profound  sorrow  pervaded  the  little 
party.  Marie  could  scarcely  hold  back  her  tears, 
seeing  her  uncle  so  downcast.  Such  useless  suffering  ! 
such  fruitless  toil !  Penellan  himself  grew  peevish.  He 
wished  every  one  to  the  Devil,  and  seized  everj-  occasion 
of  grumbling  about  his  comrades'  weakness  and  cow- 
ardice, calling  them  more  timid,  and  more  easily  tired, 
than  Marie,  who  would  have  gone  to  the  world's  end 
without  complaining. 

Andi'e  Vasling  could  not  hide  his  pleasure.  He 
grew  more  attentive  than  ever  to  the  3'oung  girl,  whom 
he  even  encouraged  to  hope  that  new  researches  might 
be  made  when  winter  was  over,  well  knowing  they 
would  be  too  late. 


216         A    WINTER  AMONG   TEE   ICE-FIELDS. 
BUKIED    ALIVE. 

The  evening  before  their  departure,  at  teatime,  Pe- 
nellan  was  busil}'  breaking  up  some  empt}'  eases  to  feed 
the  fire,  when  he  was  suddenly  suffocated  by  a  vohime 
of  smoke.  At  the  same  time  the  house  was  shaken  as 
if  by  an  earthquake.  Every  one  uttered  a  cry  of  teiTor  ; 
and  Penellan  rushed  out. 

It  was  perfectly  dark.  A  frightful  tempest,  for  it 
was  not  a  thaw,  was  raging.  Whirlwinds  of  snow 
beat  violently  about ;  and  the  cold  was  so  extreme,  that 
the  helmsman  felt  his  hands  freezing  fast.  He  was 
forced  to  return,  after  rubbing  himself  well  with  snow. 

"  What  a  storm  !  "  he  cried.  "  God  gTant  our  house 
ma}-  resist  it ;  for,  if  the  hurricane  should  destroy  it, 
we  should  be  lost  indeed." 

At  the  same  time  that  the  elements  were  let  loose, 
a  dreadful  noise  was  heard  beneath  the  frozen  ground. 
The  ice-peaks,  torn  up  from  the  promontory,  dashed 
furiously  together  ;  the  wind-iJlew  so  hard,  that  it  some- 
times seemed  as  if  the  whole  house  would  be  uprooted  ; 
and  phosphorescent  lights,  inexplicable  in  those  lati- 
tudes, gleamed  amid  the  tempest. 

"  Marie,  Marie  ! "  cried  Penellan,  grasping  the  young 
girl's  hands. 

"  We're  in  a  bad  fix !  "  said  Fidele  Misonne. 

"  And  I  don't  know  whether  we  shall  ever  get  out 
of  it,"  replied  Aupic. 


A    WINTER   AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDS.         217 

"Let  us  leave  this  snow-house,"  said  Andre  Vasling. 

"Impossible!"  replied  Penellan.  "The  cold  is 
terrible  without,  while  we  are  comparativel}'  sheltered 
hei-e." 

"  Give  me  the  thermometer,"  said  Vasling. 

Aupic  handed  him  the  instrument,  which  marked 
ten  degrees  below  zero  inside,  although  the  fire  was 
burning  brightl}'.  Vasling  raised  the  canvas  ffom  the 
door,  and  dropped  it  hurriedl}'  out ;  for  he  would  have 
been  crushed  by  the  fragments  of  ice,  hui-led  to  and 
fro  b}'  the  wind  like  a  perfect  hail-storm. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Vasling,"  said  Penellan,  "  do  3'ou  still 
desire  to  go  out?     You  see  that  we  are  safer  here." 

"  Yes,"  added  Jean  Cornbutte  ;  "  and  we  must  exert 
every  effort  to  strengthen  the  house  from  within." 

"But  a  still  more  frightful  danger  thi'eatens  us," 
said  Andre. 

"  What?  "  asked  Cornbutte. 

"  The  wind  may  break  up  the  ice  our  house  stands 
on,  as  it  has  broken  the  ice-peaks  farther  on,  and  we 
ma}"  be  drowned  or  carried  away." 

"  I  hardly  think  it,"  replied  Penellan  ;  "  for  it  is  cold 
enough  to  freeze  even  liquids.  Let  us  see  what  the 
temperature  is." 

He  raised  the  canvas,  only  putting  out  his  arm,  and 
had  some  trouble  to  find  the  thermometer  in  the  snow  ; 
but  at  last  he  seized  it,  and,  bringing  it  to  the  light, 
said,  — 

19 


218        A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

' '  Thirt3--two  degrees  below  zero  !  The  greatest 
cold  we  have  3-et  known." 

"Ten  degi-ees  lower,"  added  Vasling,  "and  the 
mercury  will  freeze." 

A  gloomy  silence  followed  this  remark. 

Towards  eight  in  the  morning  Penellan  made  a 
second  attempt  to  get  out  and  judge  of  the  situation. 
They  must  also  make  some  vent-hole  for  the  smoke, 
which  the  Avind  was  now  driving  into  the  hut.  The 
sailor  wrapped  his  garments  close  about  him,  tied  his 
hood  down  over  his  ears  with  a  handlierchief,  and 
raised  the  canvas. 

The  opening  was  entirely  blocked  by  solid  snow. 
Penellan  took  his  staff,  and  succeeded  in  plunging  it 
into  the  compact  mass  ;  but  terror  froze  his  blood  when 
he  felt  that  his  stick  did  not  move,  but  struck  against 
a  hard  bod}-. 

"Corubutte,"  said  he  to  the  captain,  who  had  drawn 
near,  "  we  are  buried  under  the  snow  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  cried  Jean  Corubutte. 

"  I  mean  that  the  snow  has  collected  and  frozen 
around  and  over  us  ;  that  we  are  buried  alive." 

"  Let  us  try  to  push  away  this  mass  of  snow," 
replied  the  captain. 

The  two  friends  struggled  with  the  obstacle  that 
blocked  the  doorwa}-,  but  could  not  stir  it.  The  snow 
was  more  than  five  feet  thick,  and  formed  one  with  the 
house. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         219 

Cornbiitte  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation,  which 
woke  Misonue  and  Andre  Vasling.  An  oath  escaped 
the  latter,  and  he  knit  his  brows. 

At  this  moment  a  thicker  puff  of  smoke  than  ever 
filled  the  hut,  for  there  was  no  outlet  for  it, 

"Curse  it!"  cried  Misonne.  "The  stove-pipe  is 
stopped  up  with  ice." 

Penellan  took  his  stick,  and  got  upon  the  stove,  after 
throwing  snow  on  the  burning  brands  to  extinguish 
them,  which  produced  such  a  smoke,  that  they  could 
hardl}-  see  the  light  of  the  lamp  ;  then  he  tried  to  clear 
the  pipe  with  his  stick,  but  struck  against  a  rock  of 
ice. 

There  was  nothing  left  but  to  wait  quietlj^  for  their 
frightful  end,  preceded  hy  a  long  agon}'.  The  smoke, 
getting  into  the  wretched  creatures'  throats,  hurt  them 
terribh' ;  and  even  air  would  soon  fail  them. 

Marie  woke  ;  and  her  presence,  which  drove  Corn- 
butte  mad,  restored  Penellan's  courage.  The  helms- 
man could  not  think  this  poor  child  doomed  to  so  horrid 
a  death. 

"Well,"  said  the  young  girl,  "have  you  made  too 
much  fii'e?     The  room  is  fall  of  smoke." 

"  Yes  —  3'es  " —  stammered  the  helmsman. 

"  Of  course  you  have,"  said  Marie  ;  "  for  it  is  not 
cold.     We  haven't  been  so  warm  for  a  long  time." 

No  one  dared  to  tell  her  the  trath. 

"  Come,  Marie,"  said  Penellan,  putting  on  a  bold 


220         A    WINTER   AMONG    TEE   ICE-FIELDS. 

face,  "  help  us  with  the  breakfast.  It  is  too  cold  to 
go  out.  Here's  the  blazer,  here's  the  alcohol,  here's 
the  coffee.  Come,  fellows,  give  us  a  little  pemmican, 
since  the  weather  prevents  3'oui'  hunting." 

These  words  revived  his  comrades'  spirits. 

"•Let's  eat  first,"  added  Penellan,  '"and  then  we'll 
see  about  getting  out." 

Penellan  added  practice  to  precept,  and  devoured 
his  portion.  His  comrades  imitated  him,  and  then 
drank  a  cup  of  hot  cofiee,  which  strengthened  the 
somewhat.  Then  Cornbutte  decided,  with  great  ener- 
gy, that  every  means  of  escape  should  be  tried  at 
once. 

It  was  then  that  Andre  Vasliug  made  this  remark,  — 

"  If  the  tempest  still  rages,  as  is  most  probable,  we 
must  be  buried  ten  feet  deep  ;  for  we  can't  hear  a  sound 
from  without." 

Penellan  looked  at  Marie,  who  saw  the  truth,  but 
never  quaked. 

Penellan  first  heated  the  iron  point  of  his  stick  red- 
hot  in  the  sijirit-lamp,  and  bored  thi'ough  each  wall  in 
turn,  without  finding  any  outlet.  Cornbutte  then 
resolved  to  dig  an  opening  through  the  door  itself. 
The  ice  was  so  hard,  that  their  cutlasses  made  very 
little  impression  on  it.  The  pieces  which  they  broke 
off  soon  began  to  obstruct  the  hut.  At  the  end  of  two 
houi's'  hard  work,  the  tunnel  was  not  three  feet  deep. 

They  must  devise  some  more  rapid  means,  which 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE    ICE-FIELDS.         221 

would  be  less  likely-  to  shake  the  house  ;  for,  the  farther 
they  aclvanced,  the  harder  grew  the  ice,  requiring  more 
violent  efforts  to  cut  it. 

Penellan  thought  of  melting  the  ice  in  the  required 
direction  by  the  aid  of  their  spirit-lamp.  It  was  a 
dangerous  experiment ;  for,  if  their  imprisonment  were 
prolonged,  the  alcohol,  of  which  they  had  but  a  small 
supply,  would  not  holdout  to  cook  their  meals.  Never- 
theless, the}^  consented  to  try  it,  and  it  was  put  in 
practice  at  once.  They  first  dug  a  hole  about  three 
feet  deep,  and  one  foot  round,  to  receive  the  water 
which  would  drip  from  the  melting  ice,  and  were  thank- 
ful they  had  taken  this  precaution  ;  for  the  water  fell 
so  fast  under  the  fire,  that  Penellan  soon  walked  up- 
right through  the  snow. 

The  opening  grew  by  degi-ees ;  but  they  could  not 
continue  their  labors  long,  for  the  water  soaked  them 
through  and  through.  Penellan  was  obliged  to  pause 
in  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  take  the  spirit-lamp  in  to 
dry  himself  b^-  it.  Misonne  soon  took  his  place,  and 
worked  no  less  bravely. 

After  two  hours'  toil,  although  the  tunnel  was  five 
feet  deep,  their  sticks  could  still  find  no  opening. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  Cornbutte,  "  that  the  snow 
should  have  fallen  in  such  quantities.  It  must  have 
l)een  drifted  this  way  b}'  the  wind.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  been  better  to  tr}-  the  other  side." 

"I   don't   know,"    replied   Penellan;    "but,  if  it'g 


222         A    WINTER   AMONG    TP^   ICE-FIELDS. 

only  to  keep  our  comrades'  courage  up,  we  must  go  on 
where  we  began.  We  must  find  an  outlet  sooner  or 
later." 

"  Will  not  our  alcohol  give  out? "  asked  the  captain. 

"I  hope  not,"  replied  Penellan,  "but,  if  necessary, 
we  must  give  up  coffee  and  hot  drinks.  Besides,  that 
is  not  my  greatest  anxiety." 

"AVhat  is  it,  Penellan?"  asked  Cornbutte. 

"  That  our  lamp  ma}-  go  out  for  lack  of  oil,  and 
that  we  may  come  to  the  end  of  our  provisions.  How- 
ever, trust  in  God." 

Then  Penellan  took  Vasling's  place ;  for  he,  too, 
worked  hard  in  the  common  cause. 

"  Mr.  Vasling,"  said  he,  "  I  will  take  3'our  place,  but 
look  out,  I  beg,  for  any  signs  of  the  walls  caving  in, 
that  we  may  have  time  to  ward  off  such  a  calamit}'." 

The  hour  for  rest  had  come  ;  and,  when  Penellan  had 
dug  the  tunnel  a  foot  deeper,  he  came  in,  and  la}' down 
to  sleep  with  his  companions. 


XI. 

A   CLOUD    OF   SMOKE. 


The  next  da}',  when  the  sailors  woke,  they  were 
wrapped  in  darkness.  The  lamp  had  gone  out.  Corn- 
butte roused  Penellan  to  ask  for  cue  tinder-box,  whiclj 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE    ICE-FIELDS.         223 

he  handed  him.  Fencllan  rose  to  light  the  spirit-lamp, 
but  in  rising  struck  his  head  against  the  ice.  He  was 
alarmed,  for  the  night  before  he  could  stand  erect.  The 
spirit-lamp  being  lighted,  he  saw  by  its  feeble  light 
that  their  tunnel  was  a  foot  lower. 

lie  set  furiously  to  work. 

At  that  moment,  the  young  girl  came  out,  and  saw, 
b^'  the  light  reflected  from  the  lamp,  how  desire  and 
despair  were  contending  on  his  rough  face.  She 
approached  him,  took  his  hands,  and  pressed  them  ten- 
derly-.    His  courage  revived. 

"  She  shall  not  die  here  ! "  he  cried. 

He  took  his  spirit-lamp,  and  set  to  work  on  the  nar- 
row opening.  He  plunged  his  stick  firmh'  in,  and  met 
no  resistance.  Had  he  reached  soft  layers  of  snow? 
He  drew  back  his  stick,  and  a  ray  of  light  pierced  the 
darlvucss. 

"  Help,  friends  !  "  he  cried. 

And  he  knocked  away  the  snow  with  hands  and  feet ; 
but  the  outer  crust  was  not  so  soft  as  he  supposed. 
With  the  ra}-  of  light,  a  rush  of  cold  air  entered  the 
cabin,  and  froze  every  damp  spot  in  a  second.  With 
the  aid  of  his  cutlass,  Penellan  enlarged  the  opening, 
and  was  soon  breathing  fresh  air.  He  fell  on  his  knees 
to  thank  God,  and  was  soon  joined  b}-  the  young  girl 
and  his  companions. 

A  maguiticent  moon  illumined  the  scene,  sending 
forth  such  icy  beams,  that  the  sailors  were  driven  in  ; 


224        A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

but  Penellan  first  looked  about  him.  Tlie  pvomontoiy 
was  gone,  and  the  hut  stood  in  the  midst  of  an  immense 
ice-fiekl.  He  looked  for  the  sledge  with  thoir  provis- 
ions :  the  sledge  had  vanished. 

The  cold  drove  him  in.  He  said  nothing  to  his  com- 
panions, but  dried  his  clothes  at  the  spirit-lamp.  The 
thermometer,  exposed  for  one  moment  to  the  air,  fell  to 
thirt}'  degrees  below  zero. 

An  hour  after,  Andre  Vasling  and  Penellan  resolved 
to  venture  out.  The}-  wrapped  themselves  in  their  still 
damp  garments,  and  went  through  the  tunnel,  whose 
walls  were  already  like  marble. 

"  We  have  been  driven  towards  the  north-east,"  said 
Andre,  examining  the  stars,  which  shone  with  unwont- 
ed brilliancy. 

"  There'd  have  been  no  harm  in  that,"  replied  Pe- 
nellan, "  if  our  sledge  had  come  with  us." 

"  Isn't  the  sledge  there?  "  cried  Andre.  "  Then  we 
are  lost ! " 

"  Let  us  look  about,"  said  Penellan. 

The}'  went  round  the  hut,  which  formed  a  solid  block 
more  than  fifteen  feet  high.  An  immense  quantity  of 
snow  had  fallen  during  the  storm ;  and  the  ^vind  had 
drifted  it  against  the  only  elevation  on  the  plain.  The 
whole  mass  had  been  driven  by  the  wind  more  than 
twenty-five  miles  to  the  north-east,  and  tlic  prisoners 
had  suli'ered  the  fate  of  their  floating  prison.  The 
sledge,    resting    on    another  ice-cake,   had    doubtless 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         225 

drifted  another  ■way  ;  for  ih.Qy  saw  uo  traces  of  it ;  and 
the  dogs  must  have  perished  iu  the  blast. 

Vasling  and  Peuellan  gave  "way  to  despair.  They 
dared  not  re-enter  the  snow-house.  The}'  dared  not 
announce  the  fatal  news  to  their  companions  in  misfor- 
tune. The}'  climbed  over  the  verj-  block  of  ice  in  ■which 
the  hut  "was  buried,  and  saw  nothing  but  the  same  Tvlute 
waste  which  surrounded  them  on  every  side.  Cold 
was  alread}'  stiffening  their  limbs  ;  and  their  damp  gar- 
ments were  freezing  into  icicles  upon  them. 

Just  as  Penellan  was  descending  the  hummock,  he 
happened  to  glance  at  Vasling.  He  saw  him  look  sud- 
denly and  eagerly  in  a  certain  direction,  then  tremble, 
and  turn  pale. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Vasling?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,  nothing!"  was  the  reply.  "Let  us  go 
down  and  leave  these  regions,  which  we  never  should 
have  entered,  as  soon  as  Ave  can." 

But,  instead  of  obeying,  Penellan  climbed  up  again, 
and  turned  his  eyes  in  the  same  direction.  A  very 
different  effect  was  produced  on  him ;  for  he  uttei*ed  a 
crj^  of  joy,  exclaiming,  — 

"  God  be  praised  !  " 

A  light  smoke  rose  in  the  north-east.  There  was  no 
mistake  :  living  beings  were  dwelling  there.  Penellau's 
cries  of  jo}'  attracted  his  companions  ;  and  the}'  all  con- 
vinced themselves  with  their  own  eyes  that  the  helms- 
man was  right. 


'2-26         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

So  without  thinking  of  their  hick  of  provisions,  oi 
the  severe  cohl,  wrapped  in  their  cloaks,  the}'  has- 
tened towards  the  spot. 

The  smoke  rose  from  the  north-east :  the  little  band 
hastil}'  took  that  course.  The  goal  to  be  reached  lay 
five  or  six  miles  off,  and  it  was  very  difficult  to  steer 
straight  to  it.  The  smoke  had  disappeared,  and  no  ris- 
ing ground  served  as  a  landmark  ;  for  the  ice-plain  was 
perfectly'  level.  Still  it  was  most  important  to  keep  the 
straight  path. 

"As  we  cannot  guide  ourselves  by  distant  objects," 
said  Cornbutte,  "  we  must  tr^'  another  plan.  Penellan 
must  march  at  the  head  ;  Vasling,  twenty  paces  behind 
Mm  ;  and  I,  twentj^  paces  behind  Vasling.  I  can  then 
see  that  Penellan  does  not  fall  out  of  line." 

They  proceeded  thus  for  half  an  hour,  when  Penellan 
stopped  suddenly  in  a  listening  attitude. 

The  group  of  sailors  pressed  about  him. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  any  thing?"  he  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Misoune. 

"Strange!"  said  Penellan.  "It  seemed  as  if  I 
heard  cries  from  that  quarter." 

"  Cries? "  repeated  Marie.  "  Then  we  must  be  near 
our  journe3-'s  end." 

"  Not  necessarily,"  replied  Andre  Vasling.  "  In 
these  high  latitudes,  and  in  such  extreme  cold,  sounds 
are  carried  to  extraordinary'  distances." 

"  However  it  may  be,"  said  Jean  Cornbutte,  "  let  us 
go  on,  or  we  shall  be  frozen." 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE    ICE-FIELDS.         22'! 

"  ^^o  !  "  said  Penellan.     "  Listen  !  " 

Faint  but  perceptible  sounds  were  indeed  ht.'ard. 
Thej'  seemed  to  be  cries  of  agony  and  distress.  They 
v,-ere  twice  repeated.  It  sounded  like  some  one  calling 
for  help.     Then  all  was  silent  once  more. 

"I  was  not  deceived,"  said  Penellan.     "  Forward !'' 

And  he  set  out  on  the  run  towards  the  cries.  He 
Lad  gone  about  two  miles,  when,  to  his  intense  surprise, 
he  saw  a  man  lying  on  the  ice.  He  approached, 
lifted  him  up,  and  raised  his  arms  to  heaven  in  despair. 

Andi'e  Vasling,  coming  up  with  the  rest  of  the  sail- 
ors, cried  out,  — 

"  It's  one  of  the  shipwrecked  men!  It's  our  sailor 
Gortrois ! " 

"  He  is  dead,"  replied  Penellan,  —  "  dead  with  cold." 

Jean  Cornbutte  and  Marie  had  now  reached  the 
corpse,  which  was  already  frozen  stitf.  Despair  was 
painted  on  ever}'  face.  The  dead  man  was  one  of 
Louis  Cornbutte's  companions. 

"  Forward  !  "  cried  Penellan. 

The}'  went  on  for  half  an  hour  longer,  without  a 
word,  when  they  saw  a  slight  elevation,  which  must  be 
laud. 

"  It  is  Shannon  Island,"  said  Cornbutte. 

At  the  end  of  a  mile  the}'  distinctly  saw  smoke  is- 
suing from  a  snow-hut  with  a  wooden  door.  They 
shouted.  Two  men  rushed  from  the  hut ;  and  Penellan 
recognized  one  as  Pierre  Xouquet. 


228         A    WINTER  AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

"  Pierre  !  "  he  cried. 

Pierre  stood  as  if  stunned,  seemingl}^  unconscious 
of  what  was  going  on  around  him.  Andre  Vasling 
examined  Pierre  Nouquet's  companions  with  anxiety 
mingled  with  cruel  joy ;  for  he  did  not  see  Louis  Corn- 
butte  among  them. 

"Pierre,  it  is  I!"  cried  Penellan.  "We  are  all 
your  friends." 

Pierre  Nouquet  re"sdved,  and  fell  into  his  old  com- 
rade's arms. 

"And  my  son!  And  Louis!"  cried  Jean  Corn- 
butte  in  accents  of  the  deepest  despair. 


XII. 

RETURN   TO    THE    SHIP. 

At  that  moment  a  man,  apparently  at  the  point  of 
death,  crawled  forth  from  the  hut. 

It  was  Louis  Cornbutte. 

"  My  son  !  " 

"  My  beloved  !  " 

These  two  greetings  were  uttered  simultaneously ; 
and  Louis  fell  fainting  in  the  arms  of  his  father  and  his 
betrothed,  who  carried  him  into  the  house,  where  they 
soon  restored  him  to  life. 

"Father,  Marie!"  cried  Louis.  "I  see  yoxx  once 
again  before  I  die." 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         229 

"  You  shall  not  die,"  replied  Penellan ;  "  for  yoiir 
friends  are  all  about  you." 

Andi'e  Vasling's  hatred  must  have  been  strong  in- 
deed to  prevent  his  offering  his  hand  to  Louis  Corn- 
butte  ;  but  he  did  not  offer  it  to  him. 

Pierre  Nouquet  could  not  contain  himself  for  joy. 
He  embraced  everybody ;  then  he  heaped  the  stove 
with  wood,  and  the  temperature  soon  moderated  in  the 
cabin. 

There  were  two  men  there  whom  neither  Jean  Corn- 
butte  nor  Penellan  recognized. 

The}'  v/ere  Jocki  and  Herming,  the  only  two  Norwe- 
gian sailors  saved  from  the  crew  of  "  The  Frooern." 

"My  friends,  we  are  saved  at  last,"  said  Louis 
Cornbutte.  "Father,  Marie!  what  dangers  you  have 
risked  for  my  sake  !  " 

"We  do  not  regret  them,  Louis,"  replied  Jean. 
"Your  ship,  'The  Young  Adventurer' is  fast  in  the 
ice,  sixty  leagues  away.     We  will  join  her  together." 

"  When  Cortrois  comes  back,"  said  Pierre  Nouquet, 
"  he'll  be  famously  pleased,  I  warrant." 

A  sad  silence  followed  this  remark ;  and  Penellan 
told  Pierre  and  Louis  of  their  comrade's  death  from 
cold. 

"Friends,"  said  Penellan,  "we  must  wait  here  till 
the  temperature  rises.     You  have  food  and  fuel?  " 

"  Yes,  and  we  will  burn  the  remains  of  '  The  Froo> 
ern.' " 

20 


230         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

"  The  Frooern"  had  been  driven  withiu  forty  miles  of 
the  spot  where  Louis  Conibutte  was  S])ending  the  win- 
ter. It  had  there  been  broken  up  b}*  floating  ice,  and 
the  crew  were  carried,  with  the  timbers  from  which  tliey 
1  uilt  their  hut,  to  the  southern  shore  of  Isle  Shannon. 

The  men  were  five  in  number,  —  Louis  Cornbutte, 
Cortrois,  Pierre  Nouquet,  Jocki,  and  Herming.  The 
rest  of  the  Norwegian  crew  had  sunk  with  the  long- 
boat at  the  time  of  the  wreck. 

As  soon  as  Louis  Cornbutte,  borne  awa}-  by  the  ice, 
saw  it  closing  in  around  him.,  he  took  measures  for  ■ 
spending  the  winter  there.  He  was  an  energetic 
fellow,  as  active  as  he  was  courageous  ;  but,  despite  his 
strength,  he  had  been  conquered  b}'  the  climate,  and, 
when  his  father  found  him,  was  patientl}'  awaiting 
death.  He  not  only  had  to  contend  with  the  elements, 
but  with  the  ill-will  of  the  two  Norwegians  whose 
lives  he  had  saved.  They  were  perfect  savages,  desti- 
tute of  ever}-  natural  feeling.  So,  when  Louis  Corn- 
butte had  an  opportunity'  of  speaking  to  Penellan,  he 
warned  him  not  to  trust  them.  In  return,  Penellan  ac- 
quainted him  with  Andre  Vasling's  conduct.  Louis 
could  hardl}'  credit  it ;  but  Penellan  proved  to  him,  that, 
ever  since  his  disappearance,  Andre  had  done  every 
thing  in  his  power  to  win  Marie's  affections. 

The  whole  daj-  was  devoted  to  rest  and  the  pleasures 
of  re-union.  Fidele  Misonne  and  Pierre  Nouquet 
killed  a  few  sea-buxls  near  the  house,  from  which  they 


A    WINTER  AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         231 

dared  not  wander  far.  This  fresh  meat,  and  the  blaz- 
ing fire,  revived  even  the  sickest  men.  Louis  Cornbutte 
himself  felt  much  better.  It  was  the  first  happ}-  Mo- 
ment the  brave  fellows  had  known.  So  they  mi.de 
meny  in  tljeir  miserable  hut,  six  hundred  leagues  to 
the  north,  with  the  thermometer  thirty  degrees  b(;low 
zero. 

This  weather  lasted  until  the  moon  changed ;  and 
Jean  Cornbutte  and  his  comrades  could  not  think  of 
starting  until  the  17th  of  November,  a  week  after  their 
meeting.  The}-  had  nothing  but  starlight  to  guide 
them ;  but  the  cold  was  less  severe,  and  it  even  snowed 
a  little. 

Before  leaving,  the}'  dug  a  grave  for  poor  Cortrois, 
—  sad  ceremon}-,  which  affected  hi.s  companions  pain- 
fully. This  was  the  first  among  them  who  had  bid  his 
native  laud  an  eternal  farewell. 

Misonne  had  made  a  sort  of  sledge  for  the  provisions 
from  the  timbers  of  the  hut ;  and  the  sailors  dragged 
it  in  turn.  Jean  Cornbutte  led  the  way  through  roads 
alread}'  traversed.  The}'  struck  camp  at  bedtime  with 
great  promptitude.  Cornbutte  hoped  to  recover  the 
provisions  he  had  buried,  as  the}'  were  most  necessary, 
now  that  he  had  four  more  mouths  to  feed.  lie  there- 
fore took  every  precaution  not  to  stray  from  the  right 
road. 

By  a  providential  piece  of  good  luck,  he  recovered 
his   sledge,  Avhich  had  stranded  near  the  promontory 


232         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE    ICE-FIELDS. 

where  tliey  had  run  such  risks.  The  clogs,  having  eaten 
their  harness  to  satisfy  their  hunger,  had  attacked  the 
provisions.  This  had  kept  them  together  ;  and  it  was 
they  "who  guided  the  party  to  the  sledge,  where  there 
was  still  an  abundant  supply  of  provisions. 

The  little  band  resumed  its  journe}'  towards  '.he 
winter-harbor.  The  dogs  were  tackled  to  the  sledge, 
and  nothing  of  note  occurred. 

Here  we  must  mention  that  Aupic,  Andre  Vasling, 
and  the  Norwegians,  held  aloof,  and  did  not  mingle 
with  the  rest ;  but,  without  their  suspecting  it,  they 
were  closely  watched.  And  3'et  this  germ  of  dissen- 
sion more  than  once  alarmed  Louis  Cornbutte  and 
Penellan. 

Towards  the  7th  of  December,  twenty  days  after 
their  re-union,  they  saw  the  ba}^  where  "The  Young 
Adventurer  "  was  laid  up.  What  was  their  surprise,  on 
seeing  the  brig  hoisted  almost  four  yards  high  in  the 
air,  on  blocks  of  ice !  The}'  hastened  on,  greatlj' 
troubled  about  their  comrades,  and  were  welcv^med 
with  jo}'ful  acclamations  by  Gervique.  Turquiette,  and 
Gradlin.  All  were  well ;  and  3'et  they,  too,  had  been 
in  great  danger. 

The  storm  had  been  felt  throughout  the  Polar  Sea. 
The  ice  was  broken  up,  and  carried  awa}- ;  and  the 
floating  fragments  had  shaken  the  ship  in  her  bed. 
Their  specific  gravity  tending  to  bring  them  to  the 
surface,  they  had  gained  incalculable  force  ;  and  the 
brig  was  suddenl}-  lifted  out  of  the  water. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIjLLDS.         233 

The  first  moments  were  given  up  to  the  jojs  of 
meeting.  The  explorers  were  delighted  to  find  every 
thing  in  such  good  condition  as  to  insure  them,  perhaps 
a  rough,  but  certainly  an  endurable  winter.  The  snow- 
wall  had  not  stirred,  and  was  perfectl}'  firm.  "When 
the  thaw  came  on,  they  would  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  slide  the  ship  down  an  inclined  plane  into  the  open 
sea  again. 

But  one  piece  of  bad  news  clouded  their  faces.  Dur- 
ing the  fearful  gale,  the  storehouse  they  had  built  on 
shore  had  been  shattered,  the  provisions  it  contained 
carried  away ;  and  it  had  been  impossible  to  save  the 
least  thing.  As  soon  as  the}-  learned  this  misfortune, 
Jean  and  Louis  Cornbutte  visited  the  ship's  hold  and 
the  caboose,  to  see  what  provisions  were  left. 

The  thaw  would  not  set  in  till  May ;  and  the  brig 
could  not  leave  her  winter-harbor  until  then.  They 
therefore  had  five  months  of  winter  to  spend  in  the 
ice,  during  which  time  fourteen  persons  must  be  fed. 
Jean  Cornbutte  calculated,  that,  by  putting  the  crew  on 
half-rations,  he  could  barely  hold  out  until  the  time 
for  departure.  It  thus  became  necessary  to  form  hunt- 
ing-parties to  provide  a  more  abundant  supply  of  food. 

Lest  the  past  misfortune  should  be  repeated,  they 
resolved  to  keep  no  more  provisions  on  shore.  All 
remained  on  board  the  brig  ;  and  beds  were  prepared 
for  the  new-comers  in  the  sailors'  quarters.  Turquiette, 
Gervique,  and  Gradlin,  during  their  comrades'  absence, 

20* 


234        A    WINTER   AMONG    TUE   ICE-FIELDS. 

had  cut  a  staircase  in  the  ice,  which  gave  them  easy 
access  to  the  deck. 


xni. 

THE   TWO   RIVALS. 

Andre  Vasling  grew  very  friendly  with  the  two 
Norwegians.  Aupic  also  formed  one  of  their  band, 
which  held  aloof,  loudly  disapproving  all  measm-es 
taken  bj'  the  rest ;  but  Louis  Cornbutte,  to  whom  his 
father  had  restored  command,  once  more  master,  would 
not  hear  a  word  from  them ;  and,  despite  Marie's 
softer  counsel,  taught  them  that  he  would  be  implicit- 
I3'  obe3'ed. 

However,  the  two  Norwegians  succeeded,  two  da^'s 
later,  in  getting  hold  of  a  case  of  salt  meat.  Louis 
insisted  that  it  should  be  returned  immediately ;  but 
Aupic  took  their  part ;  and  Andre  Vasling  was  heard 
to  say  that  such  strict  rules  in  regard  to  food  could 
not  last  long. 

It  was  useless  to  prove  to  these  wretches  that  every 
thing  was  done  for  the  common  welfare  ;  for  they  knew 
it,  and  were  onl}-  seeking  an  excuse  for  revolt.  Pe- 
nellan  went  up  to  the  Norwegians,  who  drew  their 
dirks  ;  but,  aided  by  Misonne  and  Turquiette,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  wresting  them  from  their  hands,  and  recovered 
the  case  of  salt  meat.     Andre  Vasling  and  Aupic,  see- 


A    WINTER   AMONG    TEE   ICE-FIELDS.        23,J 

ing  that  things  had  turned  against  them,  did  not 
meddle.  Still  Louis  Cornbutte  took  the  mate  aside 
and  said  to  him,  — 

"  Andre  Vasling,  3'ou  are  a  scoundi-el.  I  know  all 
3'ou  have  done,  and  I  know  your  object ;  but,  as  the 
safety  of  the  whole  crew  is  in  my  hands,  if  any  one 
of  3'ou  dare  conspire  against  it,  I  will  stab  him  with 
my  own  hand." 

"  Louis  Cornbutte,"  replied  the  mate,  "  it's  all  very 
well  for  you  to  assume  control ;  but  remember  that 
3'OU  can  no  longer  enforce  blind  obedience,  and  that 
might  makes  right." 

Marie  had  never  quaked  before  the  perils  of  polar 
seas  ;  but  she  was  terrified  at  the  hatred  she  had  caused, 
and  Louis  could  hardly  re-assure  her. 

Despite  this  declaration  of  war,  meals  were  taken  at 
the  same  hours  and  in  common.  The  hunters  still 
provided  some  few  ptarmigan  and  white  hares  ;  but,  as 
the  cold  increased,  even  this  resource  would  fail  them. 
On  the  winter  solstice,  Dec.  22,  the  thermometer  fell 
to  thirty-five  degrees  below  zero.  The  exiles'  ears, 
noses,  and  all  their  extremities,  smarted :  they  were 
seized  with  mortal  languor  and  headache ;  and  their 
breathing  grew  more  and  more  labored. 

In  this  state  they  no  longer  felt  courage  to  go  hunt- 
ing, or  to  take  any  exercise.  They  huddled  round  the 
stove,  which  gave  but  little  heat ;  and,  as  soon  as  they 
went  ever  so  short  a  distance  from  it,  their  blood 
chilled  rapidly. 


236         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

Jean  Cornbutte's  health  failed  him  daily ;  aud  at 
last  he  could  not  leave  his  bed.  Strong  s3'mptoms  of 
scurvy  were  manifested ;  and  his  lege  were  covered 
with  whitish  spots.  Marie  was  well,  and  nursed  the 
sick  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  sister  of  charity ;  so  that 
the  sailors  blessed  her  heartily. 

The  1st  of  January  was  one  of  the  gloomiest  days 
of  wir.ter.  The  wind  blew  violentl}',  and  the  cold  was 
unendurable.  They  could  not  go  out  without  exposing 
themselves  to  freezing.  The  bravest  dared  not  quit 
the  deck  sheltered  b}'  an  awning.  Jean  Cornbutte, 
Gervique,  and  Gradlin  could  not  leave  their  beds. 
The  two  Norwegians,  Aupic,  and  Vasling,  whose 
health  was  fii'm,  cast  surl}-  glances  at  their  d^ing  com- 
rades. 

.Louis  Cornbutte  led  Penellan  on  deck,  and  inquired 
where  the  fuel  was  kept. 

"  The  charcoal  was  used  up  long  ago,"  replied 
Penellan,  "  and  we  are  now  burning  our  last  bits  of 
wood." 

"If  we  cannot  resist  this  cold,"  said  Louis,  "we 
ai-e  lost." 

"But  one  thing  remains  for  us  to  do,"  replied  Pe- 
nellan; "that  is,  to  burn  what  we  can  of  our  brig, 
from  the  bulwarks  to  the  water-line ;  and,  if  need  be, 
we  can  pull  her  to  pieces,  and  build  a  smaller  ship." 

"  That  must  be  our  last  resort,"  replied  Louis  Corn- 
butte, "  and  one  which  it  will  be  time  enough  to  tr^ 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         237 

when  our  men  recover ;  for,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice, 
"  our  strength  is  decreasing,  while  that  of  our  enemies 
seems  to  increase.     It  is  very  strange." 

"True,"  said  Penellan ;  "and,  were  it  not  for  our 
keeping  up  a  watch  day  and  night,  I  don't  know  what 
would  happen." 

"  Let  us  take  our  hatchets,"  said  Louis,  "  and  go  in 
search  of  wood." 

In  spite  of  the  cold,  they  mounted  on  the  forward 
bulwarks,  and  chopped  off  all  the  wood  not  absolutelj' 
necessarj^  to  the  ship.  The}'  then  returned  with  their 
store.  The  stove  was  filled  up,  and  a  man  kept  on 
guard  to  see  that  the  fire  did  not  go  out. 

But  soon  Louis  Cornbutte  and  his  friends  had  ex- 
hausted their  last  resources.  They  could  trust  nothing 
to  their  enemies.  "Weighed  down  by  so  many  petty 
household  cares,  their  strength  gave  way.  Jean  Corn- 
butte broke  out  with  the  scurv}-,  and  suffered  nameless 
tortures.  Gervique  and  Gradlin  followed  suit.  Had 
It  not  been  for  their  abundant  stock  of  lemon-juice,  the 
poor  fellows  would  soon  have  j-ielded  to  their  suffer- 
ings.    But  the}'  did  not  spare  this  sovereign  remedy. 

One  day,  Jan.  15,  when  Louis  Cornbutte  went  down 
to  the  caboose  for  a  fresh  suppl}-  of  lemons,  he  stood 
stupefied  on  seeing  that  the  barrels  which  contained 
them  were  gone.  He  called  Penellan,  and  acquainted 
him  with  this  fresh  misfortune.  A  theft  had  been 
committed,  and  it  was  easy  to  guess   the  authors  of 


2P>S         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

it.  Louis  saw  now  why  his  enemies  were  so  strong. 
He  was  no  longer  able  to  take  from  them  the  provisions 
on  which  his  and  his  comrades'  lives  depended,  and 
for  the  first  time,  he  gave  waj-  to  dreary  despair. 


XIV. 

DISTRESS. 

By  the  20th  of  January,  hardl}-  any  of  the  unfortunate 
men  were  strong  enough  to  crawl  out  of  bed.  Each 
one,  besides  his  blankets,  had  a  buffalo-robe  to  shelter 
him  from  the  cold  ;  but,  if  an}'  one  put  his  arm  out,  it 
ached  so  that  he  had  to  draw  it  back  in  a  jiff}'. 

However,  Louis  having  lighted  a  fire,  Penellan, 
Misonne,  and  Andre  Vasling  crawled  out,  and  crouched 
about  it.  Penellan  made  some  hot  coffee,  which  some- 
what revived  them,  as  well  as  Marie,  who  shared  their 
meal. 

Louis  then  approached  his  father's  bed,  and  found 
him  almost  motionless,  and  his  limbs  sore  with  sickness. 
The  old  sailor  muttered  a  few  incoherent  words,  which 
rent  his  son's  heart. 

"Louis,"  he  said,  "I  am  dying  —  oh,  how  I  suf- 
fer !  —  Save  me  !  " 

Louis  Cornbutte  made  up  his  mind.  He  turned  to 
the  mate,  and  said,  hardly  restraining  his  anger,  — 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         239 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  lemons  are,  Vasling?  " 

"  In  the  caboose,  I  suppose,"  replied  the  mate^ 
vrithout  moving. 

"  You  know  \c\-\  well  that  the}'  are  not  there ;  for 
3-0U  stole  them." 

"You  are  master,  Louis  Cornbutte,"  replied  Vasling 
ii'onically,  "  and  you  can  say  and  do  what  you  like." 

"Have  pit}',  Vasling:  m}'  father  is  dying.  You 
can  save  him.     Answer  me  !  " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  answer,"  replied  Vasling. 

"Villain!"  cried  Penellan,  throwing  himself  upon 
the  mate,  cutlass  in  hand. 

"  Help,  friends  !  "  cried  Andre,  starting  back. 

Aupic  and  the  two  Norwegian  sailors  sprang  from 
their  beds,  and  took  their  posts  behind  him.  Misonne, 
Turquiette,  Penellan,  and  Louis  put  themselves  on  the 
defensive.  Pierre  Nouquet  and  Gradlin,  though  ver^' 
ill,  rose  to  help  them. 

"  You  are  too  strong  for  us  still,"  muttered  Vasling. 
"  We  will  not  strike  till  we  are  sure  of  "victory." 

The  sailors  were  so  weak,  that  they  dared  not  fall 
upon  the  four  scoundrels  ;  for,  if  repulsed,  they  would 
have  perished. 

"  Andre  Vasling,"  said  Louis  Cornbutte  gravel}', 
"  if  my  father  dies,  you  will  be  his  murderer  ;  and  I  will 
kill  you  like  a  dog  !  " 

Andre  and  his  accomplices  retired  to  the  other  end 
of  the  cabin,  without  replying. 


240        A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

The}'  then  had  to  renew  their  suppl}'  of  fuel ;  and, 
d^pite  the  cold,  Louis  went  on  deck,  and  began  to  cut 
away  the  bulwarks,  but  was  forced  to  return  in  less 
than  quarter  of  an  hour,  chilled  to  the  bone  :  as  he 
passed,  he  glanced  at  the  thermometer,  and  found  that 
the  mercury  was  frozen.  It  was  therefore  more  than 
forty-two  degrees  below  zero.  The  air  was  clear  and 
dry  ;  and  the  wind  blew  from  the  north. 

On  the  2Cth  the  wind  changed  to  the  north-east,  and 
the  thermometer  outside  rose  to  thirt^'-five  degrees. 
Jean  Cornbutte  was  d}'ing  ;  and  his  son  sought  vainly 
for  something  to  alleviate  his  pain.  That  day,  how- 
ever, coming  on  Andre  Vasling  unexpectedly,  he 
succeeded  in  snatching  from  him  a  lemon  he  was  suck- 
ing. Andre  never  tried  to  recover  it.  It  seemed  as 
if  he  were  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  accomplish 
his  wicked  plans. 

The  lemon-juice  revived  Jean  ;  but  the  remedy  should 
have  been  continued.  Marie  implored  Andre  on  her 
knees,  but  he  did  not  answer  ;  and  Penellan  heard  the 
wretch  say  to  his  companions,  — 

"  The  old  man  is  dying.  Gervique,  Gradlin,  and 
Pierre  Nouquet  will  never  get  well.  The  others  are 
losing  strength  every  day.  The  time  is  coming  fast 
when  their  lives  will  be  in  our  hands." 

Louis  and  his  comrades  then  resolved  to  delay  no 
longer,  but  to  profit  by  what  strength  remained  to 
them.     They  determined  to  act  on  the  following  night, 


A    WINTER   AMONG    TUE   ICE-FIELDS.         241 

and  kill  the  wretches,  that  the}-  might  not  be  killed  by 
them. 

The  temperature  was  somewhat  higher,  and  Louis 
ventiu'ed  out  Avith  his  gun  in  search  of  game. 

He  wandered  about  three  miles  away  from  the  ship  ; 
and,  often  deceived  by  mirage  or  reflection,  went  farther 
than  he  intended.  This  was  imprudent ;  for  the  ground 
was  covered  with  fresh  tracks  of  wild  beasts.  How- 
ever, he  was  unwilling  to  return  without  fresh  meat 
of  some  kind,  and  continued  his  walk  ;  but  he  felt  an 
odd  sensation,  which  made  his  brain  reel.  It  was  what 
is  called  "  snow-sickness." 

In  fact,  the  reflections  from  the  ice  and  snow  affected 
him  from  head  to  foot ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the 
very  color  pierced  him  through  and  through,  and  nau- 
seated him  unspeakably.  His  eye  was  tainted  with  it, 
his  very  brain  soaked  in  it.  He  thought  he  should 
go  mad  with  the  white  glare.  "Without  heeding  this 
dreadful  feeling,  he  went  on,  and  soon  started  a  ptar- 
migan, which  he  chased  eagerh*.  The  bird  fell ;  and 
Louis,  jumping  from  an  ice-hill  in  pursuit  of  it,  dropped 
heavily  to  the  ground,  for  he  had  fallen  ten  feet, 
refraction  making  him  think  he  was  only  jum^jing  two, 
Vertigo  seized  upon  him ;  and,  almost  unconsciousl}', 
he  shouted  for  help  for  several  moments,  although  he 
had  broken  no  bones  in  his  fall.  Feeling  verj-  cold,  he 
revived,  and  rose  painfully. 

Suddenly,  without  his  being  able  to  account  for  it. 

21 


242         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

an  odor  of  burning  fat  filled  his  nostrils.  As  he  was 
in  the  wind  of  the  ship,  he  supposed  the  smell  came 
from  her,  and  could  not  imagine  why  the}'  should  be 
burning  fat ;  for  it  was  very  dangerous,  as  the  scent 
might  attract  white  bears. 

He  therefore  turned  back  to  the  brig,  devoured  by 
anxiety,  which,  in  his  excited  state,  soon  became 
terror.  It  seemed  to  him  that  colossal  forms  were 
moving  on  the  horizon ;  and  he  wondered  if  the  ice 
were  breaking  up  again.  Several  of  the  shapes  came 
between  him  and  the  ship ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  they 
were  on  the  brig's  side.  He  paused  to  examine  them 
more  particularly  ;  and  his  alarm  was  great  when  he 
recognized  them  to  be  a  party  of  huge  bears. 

These  animals  had  been  attracted  by  the  smell  of 
burning  grease  which  had  surprised  him.  He  concealed 
himself  behind  a  hummock,  and  counted  three  which 
were  hurriedly  scaling  the  ice-blocks  on  which  "The 
Young  Adventurer  "  lay. 

There  was  nothing  to  make  him  suppose  that  the 
danger  was  known  on  board ;  and  his  heart  throbbed 
with  anguish.  How  could  the}^  resist  such  formidable 
foes  ?  Would  Andre  Vasling  and  his  allies  join  the 
crew  in  warding  off'  this  common  danger  ?  Could  Pe- 
nellan  and  the  rest,  half-starved,  and  numb  with  cold, 
withstand  these  horrid  beasts,  who  were  urged  on  by 
hunger?     And  would  they  not  be  taken  by  surprise? 

Louis  Cornbutte  made  these  reflections  in  a  single 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         243 

instant.  The  bears  had  crossed  the  ice,  and  were 
besieging  the  vessel.  Louis  now  left  his  shelter, 
crawled  along  on  the  ice,  and  was  soon  near  enough  to 
see  the  monsters  tear  awa3'the  awning  with  their  claws, 
and  leap  upon  deck.  He  thought  of  firing  his  gun 
to  warn  his  comrades  :  but,  if  the}'  should  run  out 
unarmed,  they  would  inevitabl}'  be  torn  to  pieces  ;  and 
there  was  no  token  that  they  knew  of  their  frightful 
danger. 


XV. 

THE   WHITE   BEAKS. 


After  Louis'  departure,  Penellan  had  carefully 
closed  the  cabin-door,  which  opened  on  the  companion- 
ladder.  He  then  drew  up  to  the  stove,  which  he  had 
undertaken  to  tend,  while  his  companions  went  back  to 
bed  to  get  warm. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  Penellan  set 
about  preparing  supper.  He  went  down  to  the  caboose 
for  some  salt  meat,  which  he  was  going  to  soak  in  boil- 
ing water.  When  he  came  back,  he  found  his  seat 
occupied  by  Andr6  Vasling,  who  had  put  some  bits  of 
tallow  on  the  fire  in  a  pan. 

"  I  was  there  first,"  said  Penellan  sharply.  "  Why 
did  you  take  m)'  place?" 


244         .1    WINTER  AyfOXG    THE   ICE-FIELDS 

"For  the  same  reason  that  3-011  reclaim  it,"  replied 
Andre,  "  because  I  want  to  cook  my  supper." 

"  Take  it  awaj-,"  replied  Penellau, "  or  we  shall  see  ! " 

"  We  sha'n't  see  anj-  thing,"  said  Andre  ;  "  and  I'll 
finish  this  in  spite  of  j'ou." 

'■  You  sha'n't  taste  it  then  !  "  cried  Penellan,  rushing 
at  Andi'e,  who  di'ew  his  dirk,  shouting,  — 

"  Help,  Norwegians  !     Help,  Aupic  !  " 

In  the  twinlvling  of  an  ej'e  the}-  were  on  the  alert, 
armed  with  daggers  and  pistols.  The  whole  thing  was 
a  plot. 

Penellan  fell  upon  Andre,  who  had  undoubtedl}'  un- 
dertaken to  fight  him  alone  ;  for  his  comrades  hiu'ried 
to  the  beds  of  Misonne,  Turquiette,  and  Pierre  iSTou- 
quet.  The  latter,  defenceless,  and  weakened  b}'  disease, 
was  at  the  mere}'  of  Herming.  The  caqjenter  seized 
an  axe,  and,  springing  out  of  bed,  rushed  at  Aupic. 
Turquiette  and  Norwegian  Jocki  struggled  madly. 
Gervique  and  Gradlin,  a  prey  to  frightful  suflferings, 
wore  quite  unconscious  of  what  was  going  on  around 
them.  Pierre  Nouquet  was  soon  stabbed  in  the  side  ; 
aud  Herming  returned  to  Penellan,  who  fought  f  jriously. 
Andre  Vasling  had  closed  upon  him. 

But,  at  the  beginning  of  the  struggle,  the  pan  had 
been  upset  on  the  fire  ;  and  the  fat,  spreading  over  the 
burning  coals,  filled  the  air  with  its  nauseous  odor. 
Marie  awoke  with  shrieks  of  despair,  and  flew  towards 
the  bed  where  old  Jean  Cornbutte  lay  groaning. 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.        245 

Andre,  less  vigorons  than  Penellan,  was  soon  repulsed 
b}'  the  helmsman.  They  were  too  close  together  to 
use  their  weapons.  The  mate,  seeing  Ilerming, 
cried,  — 

"  Help,  Herming !  " 

"  Help,  Misonne  !  "  cried  Penellan  in  his  turn. 

But  Misonne  was  wrestling  on  the  floor  with  Anpic, 
who  was  tr3-ing  to  stab  him.  The  carpenter's  axe 
proved  a  verj-  clumsy  weapon  ;  for  he  could  not  handle 
it,  and  had  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  to  ward  off 
Aupic's  blows. 

Meanwhile  blood  flowed  fast  amid  howls  and  cries. 
Turquiette,  overthrown  by  Jocki,  a  man  of  uncommon 
muscle,  had  been  stabbed  in  the  shoulder,  and  was  mak- 
ing vain  efforts  to  snatch  a  pistol  from  the  NoiT\'egian's 
belt.  The  latter  held  him  in  a  vice-like  clasp,  and  he 
could  not  stir  an  inch. 

At  Andre  Vasling's  shout,  when  Penellan  hurled  him 
against  the  door-post,  Herming  ran  up.  Just  as  he 
was  going  to  plant  his  cutlass  in  the  Breton's  back,  the 
latter  stretched  him  on  the  ground  with  a  well-aimed 
kick.  The  effort  which  he  made  permitted  Vasling  to 
draw  his  right  arm  from  Penellan's  pressure  ;  but  the 
door,  against  which  they  leaned  their  whole  weight, 
suddenly  gave  way,  and  Andre  Vasling  fell  backward. 

All  at  once  a  terrible  roar  burst  forth,  and  a  huge 
Dear  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  Andre  wag 
'he  first  to  see  him,  not  being  four  feet  awa}'  from  him. 

21* 


246  A    WINTER    AMONG    THE    ICE-FIELDS. 

At  the  same  moment,  an  explosion  was  heard  ;  and  the 
bear,  wounded  or  frightened,  turned  tail,  and  ran, 
Andre,  who  had  managed  to  get  up,  ran  after  him, 
leaving  Penellan  behind. 

The  helmsman  replaced  the  broken  door,  and  gazed 
around.  Misonne  and  Turquiette,  tied  down  by  their 
enemies,  had  been  thrown  into  a  corner,  and  were  strug- 
gling vainly  to  break  their  bonds.  Penellan  hastened 
to  their  aid,  but  was  overthrown  by  Aupic  and  the  two 
Norwegians.  His  exhausted  strength  did  not  suffice 
to  resist  the  thi'ee  men,  who  fastened  him  so  that  he 
could  not  budge.  Then,  at  the  mate's  call,  they 
hastened  on  deck,  thinking  to  deal  with  Louis  Corn- 
butte. 

There  they  found  Andre  Vasling  struggling  with  a 
bear,  whom  he  had  alread}'  wounded  twice  with  his 
knife.  The  animal,  beating  the  air  with  his  enormous 
paws,  strove  to  get  hold  of  him.  He,  driven  gradualh' 
into  a  corner,  was  on  the  point  of  yielding,  when  a 
second  explosion  rang  through  the  air.  Vasling  raised 
his  ej-es,  and  saw  Louis  Cornbutte,  rifle  in  hand,  in  the 
mizzenmast  rigging.  Louis  had  shot  the  bear  through 
the  heart,  and  he  dropped  dead. 

Hatred  dominated  gratitude  in  Vasling  heart ;  but, 
before  satisfying  it,  he  looked  about.  Aupic  had  his 
brains  dashed  out  b}'  the  bear's  paw,  and  lay  lifeless  ou 
the  deck.  Jocki,  axe  in  hand,  was  parr^'ing,  with 
great  difficulty,  the  attacks  of  the  second  boar,  who  had 


A    WINTER   AMONG   TBE   ICE-FIELDS.        247 

killed  Anpic.  The  animal  had  been  twice  wounded, 
and  yet  he  fought  savagel}'.  A  tliird  bear  was  rushing 
to  the  ship's  head. 

Andi'e  Vasling  let  him  alone,  and,  followed  by  Herm- 
ing,  went  to  Jocki's'  relief.  But  Jocki  was  crushed  in 
the  bear's  embrace  ;  and,  when  the  beast  fell  dead  under 
Vasling  and  Herming's  balls,  he  held  a  corpse  in  his 
arms. 

"  There  are  but  two  of  us  left,"  said  Vasling 
gloomily  and  tiercel}' ;  "  but,  if  we  must  3'icld,  it  sha'n't 
be  without  a  desperate  struggle." 

Harming  reloaded  his  pistol  without  repaying.  The 
first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  get  rid  of  the  third  bear. 
Andre  looked  forward,  and  saw  nothing  of  him.  Rais- 
ing his  eyes,  he  spied  him  at  last  upon  the  bulwarks, 
climbing  up  the  ratlines  to  get  at  Louis  Cornbutte. 
Andre  di-opped  the  gun,  which  he  had  aimed  at  the 
animal,  and  his  e3'es  gleamed  with  cruel  joy. 

"  Ah !  "  he  cried,  "  you  owed  me  that  revenge  !  " 

Meanwhile  Louis  took  refuge  in  the  mizzentop. 
The  bear  went  on,  and  was  hardly'  six  feet  from  Louis, 
when  he  shouldered  his  gun,  and  aimed  at  the  creature's 
heart. 

On  his  side,  Andre  shouldered  his  gun  to  strike 
Louis  if  the  bear  fell. 

Louis  fu"ed ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  the  creature  were 
unharmed,  for  he  sprang  with  one  bound  into  tlae  top. 
The  whole  mast  quivered. 


248         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

Andre  Vasling  uttered  a  cv}'  of  jo}*. 

"  Ileruiing,"  he  cried  to  the  Norwegian  sailor, 
"  call  Marie  !     Call  my  bride  !  " 

Ilerming  ran  down  into  the  cabin. 

The  furious  animal  now  fell  upon  Louis  Cornbutte, 
who  tried  to  shield  himself  on  the  other  side  of  the 
mast ;  but,  just  as  one  enormous  paw  was  uplifted  to 
dash  his  brains  out,  he  seized  one  of  the  backstays, 
and  slipped  down,  not  without  danger ;  for  midwaj' 
a  ball  whistled  b}-  him.  Andre  Vasling  had  fired  at 
him,  and  missed.  The  two  foes  stood  face  to  face,  cut- 
lass in  hand. 

This  combat  was  to  be  decisive.  To  sate  his 
vengeance  to  the  full,  to  have  the  3'oung  gM  in  at  her 
lover's  death,  Andre  had  deprived  himself  of  Ilerming's 
aid.  He  must  reh'  on  himself  alone.  The  two  men 
collared  each  other,  taking  a  firm  hold.  Oue  of  the 
tw^o  must  die.  The}'  dealt  fearful  blows,  which  could 
not  be  wholly  parried  ;  for  blood  soon  flowed  on  both 
sides.  Andre  tried  to  throw  his  right  arm  round  his 
adversar3''s  neck  to  floor  him.  Louis,  knowing  that  he 
Avhofoll  was  lost,  prevented  it,  and  succeeded  in  seizing 
him  by  both  arms ;  but,  in  doing  so,  his  du'k  escaped 
his  hand. 

Frightful  cries  pierced  his  ears.  It  was  Marie's 
voice,  whom  Ilerming  was  trying  to  drag  on  deck. 
Kage  gained  mastery  in  Louis  Cornbutte's  heart.  He 
stiffened  himself  uj)  to  break  Andre's  back  ;  but  at  this 


£  S 

c  — 


c  ,j- 


A  wixti::r  among  the  ice-fields.       249 

instant  the  tvro  foes  were  both  clasped  in  one  powerful 
hug. 

The  bear,  who  had  come  down  from  the  mizzentop, 
hed  sprung  upon  the  two  men. 

Andi'e  Vasling  was  pressed  to  the  creature's  heart. 
Louis  Cornbutte  felt  the  monster's  claws  buried  in  his 
flesh.     The  bear  \Yas  strangling  them  both. 

"  Help,  help,  Ilerming  !  "  cried  the  mate. 

"  Help,  Penellan  !  "  shouted  Louis. 

Steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs.  Penellan  appeared, 
cocked  his  pistol,  and  discharged  it  into  the  bear's  ear. 
The  animal  uttered  a  loud  growl.  Pain  made  him  open 
his  arms  for  an  instant,  and  Louis  fell  fainting  to  the 
deck ;  but  the  beast,  reclosing  them  with  a  supreme 
effort,  dropped,  dragging  Avith  him  the  wretched  Andre, 
whose  corpse  was  crushed  beneath  him. 

Penellan  rushed  to  Louis  Cornbutte's  rescue.  No 
serious  wound  endangered  his  life  ;  and  his  breath  had 
onl}'  failed  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Marie?  "  said  he,  opening  his  eyes. 

"Safe,"  replied  the  helmsman.  "  Herming  lies 
yonder,  with  a  dirk-wound  in  his  stomach." 

"  And  the  bears?" 

"  Dead,  Louis,  dead  as  our  enemies.  But  I  may  say 
that  these  bears  have  been  our  preservers  ;  indeed,  they 
came  to  our  rescue.     Let  us  thank  God." 

Louis  and  Penellan  went  down  into  the  cabin  ;  and 
Marie  rushed  into  their  arms. 


250         A    WINTER   AMONG    TUE   ICE-FIELDS. 

XVI. 

CONCLUSION. 

Herming,  mortally  wounded,  was  put  to  bed  by  Mi- 
sonne  and  Turqulette,  who  liad  succeeded  in  breaking 
their  bonds.  The  wretch  was  at  his  last  gasp  ;  and  the 
two  sailors  turned  to  Pierre  Nouquet,  whose  wound  was 
fortunately  trifling. 

But  a  still  greater  blow  was  to  be  dealt  Louis  Corn- 
butte :  his  father  gave  no  signs  of  life.  Had  he  died 
of  grief  at  seeing  his  son  in  the  enemy's  hand?  Had 
he  perished  before  that  terrible  scene?  The}-  could 
not  tell.  But  the  poor  old  sailor,  worn  out  by  disease, 
had  ceased  to  live. 

B}'  this  unexpected  stroke  Louis  and  Marie  were 
plunged  in  profound  despair.  They  knelt  beside  the 
bed,  weeping,  and  praying  for  Jean  Cornbutte's  soul. 

Penellan,  Misonne,  and  Turquiette  left  them  alone, 
and  went  on  deck.  The  bodies  of  the  three  bears  were 
drawn  afore.  Penellan  resolved  to  preserve  their  skins, 
which  would  prove  very  useful ;  but  he  never  thought 
of  eating  their  flesh.  However,  the  number  of  men  to 
be  fed  was  greatly  diminished.  The  corpses  of  Vas- 
ling,  Aupic,  and  Jocki,  cast  into  a  trench  dug  on  one 
side,  were  soon  joined  by  that  of  Herming.  The  Nor- 
wegian died  during  the  night,  without  remorse  or  re- 
pentance, foaming  at  the  mouth  with  rage. 

The  three  sailors  repaired  the  awning,  which,  torn 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.        251 

in  several  places,  permitted  the  snow  to  sift  throngli. 
The  weather  was  exceeclinglj'  cold,  and  continued  so 
till  the  return  of  the  sun,  on  the  8th  of  January. 

Jean  Cornbutte  was  buried  on  the  coast.  He  had 
left  home  to  find  his  son,  and  had  died  in  this  frightful 
climate.  His  grave  was  dug  on  the  heights  ;  and  the 
sailors  erected  a  simple  wooden  cross  over  it. 

From  that  clay  forth  Louis  and  his  men  endured 
cruel  trials ;  but  the  lemons,  which  they  recovered, 
restored  their  health. 

Gervique,  Gradlin,  and  Pien'e  Nouquet  were  able  to 
rise  and  take  a  little  exercise  a  fortnight  after  these 
dreadful  events. 

Soon  game  became  more  abundant.  "Water-birds 
returned  in  large  flocks.  They  often  killed  a  kind  of 
wild  du(h£,  which  proved  to  be  excellent  eating.  The 
hunters  had  no  other  loss  to  deplore  than  that  of  two 
dogs,  who  were  lost  on  a  reconnoitring  ex^Deditiou, 
twenty-five  miles  southward,  to  examine  into  the  state 
of  the  ice-fields. 

The  month  of  February  was  marked  by  violent 
storms  and  frequent  snow.  The  mean  temperature  was 
still  twenty-five  degrees  below  zero  ;  but  the  exiles  did 
not  suflfer  from  it,  in  comparison  with  what  it  had  been. 
Besides,  the  sight  of  the  sun,  which  rose  higher  on  the 
horizon  every  day,  delighted  them,  and  announced  a 
speedy  close  of  their  torment.  It  seemed  as  if  Heaven 
toolv  pity  on  them,  for  it  grew  warm  uncommonly  soon 


252         A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

that  year.  As  earl}^  as  Marcli,  crows  were  seeu  fluttering 
about  the  brig.  Louis  Cornbutte  caught  some  cranes, 
which  had  pushed  their  waj^  thus  far  north.  Flocks  of 
wild  geese  were  seen  flying  from  the  south. 

The  return  of  these  birds  marked  the  approach  of 
warm  weather.  But  "one  swallow  does  not  make  a 
summer ;  "  and  with  a  change  of  wind,  or  with  a  new 
or  full  moon,  the  thermometer  sank  suddenly,  and  the 
sailors  were  obliged  to  renew  their  precautions  against 
the  cold.  The}"  had  alread}'  burned  the  bulwarks  of 
the  vessel  to  keep  warm,  as  well  as  the  cabin-partitions, 
which  they  had  taken  down,  and  a  great  part  of  the 
orlop-deck.  It  was  time  the  winter-siege  should  end. 
Fortunately,  the  mean  temperature  for  March  was 
not  more  than  sixteen  below  zero.  Marie  busied  her- 
self in  making  fresh  garments,  necessitated  by  the  pre- 
cocious summer. 

Since  the  equinoctial  storm,  the  sun  had  kept 
steadih'  above  the  horizon.  The  eight  months  of  da}-- 
light  had  begun.  The  perpetual  glare  and  continual 
warmth,  thoiigh  very  slight,  soon  acted  on  the  ice. 

Great  care  was  necessar}'  in  launching  "  The  Young 
Adventurer"  from  her  lofty  bed  of  ice.  The  ship  was 
firmty  propped,  and  it  was  thought  best  to  wait  till  the 
ice  was  broken  up ;  but  the  lower  layers,  resting  in 
wanner  waters,  were  detached  little  by  little,  and  the 
brig  descended  insensibly.  By  the  first  daj^s  of  April 
it  had  regained  its  natural  level. 


A    WINTER   AMONG   THE   ICE-FIELDii.         253 

"Witli  the  inonlh  of  April,  torrents  of  rain  set  in, 
which  flooded  the  ice-fields,  and  hastened  their  destruc- 
tion. The  thermometer  rose  to  ten  degrees  below  zero. 
Some  of  the  men  laid  aside  their  seal-skin  wraps,  and 
it  was  no  longer  uecessaiy  to  keep  a  fii-e  bm-uing 
day  and  night.  The  alcohol,  which  was  not  yei  ex- 
hausted, was  only  used  for  cooking  now. 

Soon  the  ice  began  to  crack.  Chasms  formed  with 
marvellous  speed ;  and  it  became  imprudent  to  walk 
abroad  without  a  stick  to  sound  the  ice  ;  for  the  fissures 
wound  in  every  direction.  Several  sailors  even  fell  into 
the  water,  but  escaped  with  a  cold  bath. 

The  seals  returned,  and  the  crew  often  hunted  them ; 
for  their  fat  was  very  useful. 

Their  health  remained  excellent.  The  time  was 
taken  up  with  preparations  for  departure  and  the  chase. 
Louis  often  studied  the  straits,  and  at  last  resolved  to 
try  the  southernmost  channel.  The  ice  had  already 
melted  in  spots,  and  loose  cakes  were  drifting  towards 
the  open  sea.  The  25th  of  April,  the  brig  was  made 
ready.  The  sails,  released  from  their  casing,  were  in 
perfect  order ;  and  the  sailors  were  overjoyed  to  see 
them  tremble  in  the  wind.  The  whole  ship  quivered, 
for  it  had  recovered  its  water-level,  and,  although  it 
could  not  3'et  move,  it  la}'  in  its  natural  element. 

In  Maj'  the  thaw  made  rapid  progress.  The  snow 
which  covered  the  shore  melted,  and  formed  a  thick 
mud.  making  it  almost  impossible  to  land.  Little  pink- 
22 


254        A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS. 

aud-wliite  heather-bells  peeped  sh3'l3^  from  the  snow, 
V,  hich  still  lingered,  and  seemed  to  smile  at  the  feeble 
warmth.     The  thermometer  at  last  went  up  to  zero. 

Twenty  miles  south  of  the  brig,  the  icebergs  were 
floating  down  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  Although  the  sea 
was  not  yet  entirely  open  round  the  ship,  there  were 
channels,  b}'  which  Louis  Cornbutte  resolved  to  profit. 

The  21st  of  May,  after  a  last  visit  to  his  father's 
grave,  he  left  their  winter-harbor  forever.  The  brave 
sailors'  hearts  throbbed  at  once  with  joy  and  sorrow ; 
for  they  could  not  leave  the  spot  where  their  friends  had 
died,  without  regret.  The  wind  blew  from  the  north, 
and  favored  the  brig's  departure.  It  was  frequently 
blocked  b}'  ice-cakes,  which  were  sawed  asunder.  Some- 
times icebergs  rose  before  them,  and  had  to  be  blown  up 
with  gunpowder.  For  another  month  na^'igation  was 
dangerous  ;  and  the  brig  often  came  within  an  inch  of 
destruction ;  but  the  crew  were  bold,  and  well  accus- 
tomed to  these  dangerous  manoeuvres.  Penellan,  Pierre 
Nouquet,  Turguiette,  and  Fidele  Misonne  alone  did  the 
work  of  ten  men ;  and  Marie  had  grateful  smiles  for 
ever}^  one. 

"The  Young  Adventurer"  at  last  got  free  of  the 
ice  at  the  Island  of  Jean  Mayen.  Towards  the  25th  of 
June,  the  brig  fell  in  with  one  of  those  ships  which  go 
north  for  the  seal  and  whale  fisheries.  It  had  taken 
them  nearlj'  a  month  to  get  out  of  the  Polar  Sea. 

Tlie  IG.h  of  August  "The  Young  Adventurer"  hove 


A    WINTER   AMONG    THE   ICE-FIELDS.         255 

in  sight  of  Dunkirk.  She  was  signalled  b}^  the  man  on 
the  lookout ;  and  the  whole  population  of  the  town  ran 
down  to  the  pier.  The  crew  were  soon  in  the  arms  of 
their  friends.  The  old  priest  clasped  Louis  and  Marie 
to  his  heart ;  and,  of  the  two  masses  which  he  said  on 
the  two  following  days,  the  first  was  for  the  repose'  of 
Jean  Cornbutte's  soul,  and  the  second  a  benediction  on 
the  two  lovers,  so  long  united  by  misfortune. 


FORTIETH  FRENCH  ASCENT  OF  MONT  BLANC. 

BY  PAUL    VERNE. 


A  UGUST  18,  1871,  I  reached  Chamoiini,  with  the 
fii'm  intention  of  ascending  Mont  Blanc,  let  it 
cost  me  what  it  might.  M}-  first  attempt,  in  August, 
1869,  had  been  unsuccessful.  The  weather  had  pre- 
vented my  getting  beyond  the  Grands  Mulcts.  This 
time  things  did  not  look  much  more  favorable  ;  for  the 
weather,  which  had  been  fine  all  the  morning,  changed 
suddenly  towards  noon.  Mont  Blanc,  according  to 
the  countr}^  phrase,  "put  on  his  night-cap,  and  began 
to  smoke  his  pipe ;  "  which,  in  less  fanciful  terms, 
meant  that  it  was  covered  with  clouds,  and  that  the 
snow,  drifted  about  by  a  strong  south-east  wiud,  had 
formed  a  long  plume  on  the  summit,  pointed  towards 
the  insurmountable  cliflfs  of  the  Brenva  Glacier.  This 
plume  warned  imprudent  travellers  of  the  road  they 
would  unwillingly  take,  if  they  dared  to  climb  the 
mountain. 

The  following  night  was  very  storm}'.    The  wind  and 

256 


'At  last  tile  slope  was  so  vertical,  that  oui-  bat  brims  toucbed 
tbe  legs  of  tbe  guide  who  preceded  us  "  Page  iH. 


MONT  BLANC.  257 

rain  struggled  hard  to  outdo  eacli  other  ;  aad  the  ba- 
rometer, below  variable,  was  provokingly  quiet. 

However,  as  dawn  came  on,  a  few  claps  of  thunder 
announced  n  change  in  the  temperature.  Soon  the  sky 
cleared.  The  Brcvent  and  the^  Aiguilles  Rouges  re- 
appeared. The  wind,  veering  to  the  north-east,  blew 
up  light  fleecy  clouds  above  the  Col  du  Balme,  which 
closes  the  Valley  of  Chamouni  on  the  north ;  and  I 
hailed  them  as  omens  of  fine  weather. 

In  spite  of  these  favorable  signs,  and  although  the 
barometer  rose  slowly,  M.  Balmat,  the  giude  chef,  de- 
clared that  we  must  not  dream  of  making  the  ascent. 

"  If  the  barometer  continues  to  rise,"  he  added, 
"  and  if  this  weather  holds,  I  promise  30U  shall  have 
guides  day  after  to-moiTow,  perhaps  to-morrow.  Mean- 
while, lest  3'our  patience  should  give  out,  and  3'our  legs 
grow  stitT,  I  invite  you  to  climb  the  Brevent.  The 
clouds  are  breaking  away  ;  and  you  can  get  an  exact 
idea  of  the  road  you'll  have  to  traverse  to  reach  the 
summit  of  Mont  Blanc.  If  your  heart  still  bids  you 
go,  j-ou  shall  tr}'  your  luck." 

This  speech  was  not  very  re-assuring,  and  gave  me 
reason  to  reflect.  However,  I  accepted  his  offer,  and 
he  selected  Edouard  Ravanal  as  ra}'  guide,  —  a  cold  but 
faithful  fellow,  wlio  knew  his  business  thoroughly. 

I  was  accompanied  b}'  my  friend  and  fellow-couuTi}'- 
man,  M.  Donatien  Levesque,  a  man  Mho  was  mad  for 
travelling,  and  a  daring  pedestrian,  who  had  just  re- 
22* 


258  FORTIETH  FRENCH  ASCENT 

turned  from  an  instructive  though  often  painful  jour- 
ney in  North  America.  He  had  ah'eady  visited  the 
principal  cities,  and  was  on  his  way  to  New  Orleans, 
when  the  war  cut  his  projects  short,  and  recalled  him  to 
France.  We  met  at  Aix-le-Bains,  and,  our  course  of 
treatment  once  concluded,  resolved  to  make  a  trip 
through  Switzerland  and  Savoy  together. 

Donatien  Levesque  knew  my  plans  ;  and,  as  he  feared 
his  health  would  not  permit  his  taking  so  long  a  tramp 
over  the  glaciers,  it  was  agreed  that  he  should  wait  my 
return  from  Mont  Blanc,  at  Chamouni,  and  should 
make  the  traditional  visit  to  the  Mer  de  Glace  from  the 
Montanvert  during  my  absence. 

When  he  heard  that  I  was  going  up  the  Brevent,  my 
friend  did  not  hesitate  to  accompan}'  me.  The  ascent 
of  the  Brevent  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  trips  to 
be  made  from  Chamouni.  This  mountain,  2,525  feet* 
high,  is  merely  a  continuation  of  the  Aiguilles  Rouges, 
which  run  from  north  to  south-east,  parallel  with  Mont 
Blanc,  forming  the  narrow  valley'  of  Chamouni. 
From  Brevent,  owing  to  its  central  position,  just  op- 
posite the  Glacier  des  Bossons,  one  can  watch  parties 
ascending  the  Giant  of  the  Alps  throughout  the  greater 
part  of  the  journej'.     It  is  therefore  much  i-isited. 

We  started  about  seven  o'clock  in  tlie  morning.  On 
the  Ava}',  the  guide  chefs  ambiguous  words  recurred  to 

*  The  feet  mentioned  in  this  naiTative  are  French  metres,  one  o 
which  is  equal  to  a  Uttle  more  than  thi-ee  feet  Enghsh. 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  259 

me,  and  auno^-ed  me.  So,  turning  to  Ravanal,  I 
asked,  —    ■ 

"  Have  3-011  ever  been  up  Mont  Blanc? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  once  ;  and  that  was  enough 
for  me.     I've  no  desire  to  tr}-  it  again." 

"  The  dense  !  "  said  I,  "  and  here  am  I  bound  to  do 
it." 

"  As  3-0U  like,  sir  ;  but  I  cannot  go  with  jon.  The 
mountain  is  not  in  good  humor  this  3-ear.  Several 
attempts  have  alreadj-  been  made  ;  onl^'  two  successful 
ones.  The  second  of  those  thej'  tried  twice.  Besides, 
last  3-ear's  accident  has  rather  chilled  amateurs." 

"  An  accident !     'What  was  it? " 

"  Oh  !  monsieur  has  not  heard?  It  was  as  follows. 
A  part3'  of  ten  guides  and  porters,  with  two  English- 
men, started  in  mid-September  for  the  top  of  Mont 
Blanc.  The3'  were  seen  to  reach  the  summit,  then,  a 
few  moments  after,  the3-  vanished  in  the  clouds.  When 
the  clouds  broke  awa3-,  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  The 
two  travellers,  with  seven  guides  and  porters,  were  car- 
ried awa3'  b3'  the  wind,  and  dashed  from  the  Courma- 
3'eur  side,  probabl3-  into  the  Brenva  Glacier.  The  most 
careful  search  has  been  made ;  but  their  bodies  were 
never  recovered.  The  three  others  were  found  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  from  the  summit,  near  the  Petits 
Mulcts.     The3-  had  turned  to  blocks  of  ice." 

"  But  these  men  must  have  done  something  impru- 
dent," said  I.     "  What  madness  to  start  on  such  an 


2G0  FORTIETH   FRENCH  ASCENT 

expedition  so  late  in  the  season  !  Tlicy  sliould  have 
gone  in  August." 

In  vain  I  strove  to  forget  it :  this  mehmcholN-  stor}' 
haunted  me.  Luckily,  the  sky  soon  cleared,  and  the 
beams  of  a  bright  sun  melted  the  clouds  which  still 
veiled  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  at  the  same  time 
those  which  obscm'ed  my  mind. 

Our  ascent  was  ever}'  thing  that  could  be  desired. 
On  leaving  the  chalets  of  Planpraz,  2,0G2  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  we  climbed  through  broken  stones 
and  heaps  of  snow,  to  the  foot  of  a  rock  kno^Ti  as  the 
Chimney,  which  we  scaled  on  hands  and  knees. 
Twenty  minutes  after,  we  were  on  the  top  of  Breveut, 
whence  the  ^dew  was  admirable.  The  chain  of  Mont 
Blanc  loomed  up  in  all  its  majesty.  The  huge  mountain, 
firml}'  based  on  solid  strata,  seemed  to  def}'  the  storms 
which  beat  against  his  icy  buckler,  without  ever  im- 
pairing it ;  while  the  mass  of  needles,  peaks,  and  moun- 
tains, which  form  his  court,  and  rise  around  him  in 
emulation,  without  equalling  him,  bear  evident  marks 
of  slow  deca}-. 

From  our  fine  standpoint,  we  began  to  reckon,  some- 
what imperfectly,  the  distances  to  be  traversed  before 
reaching  the  summit.  The  peak  which  from  Chamouni 
had  seemed  so  near  the  Dome  du  Goute  recovered  its 
true  position.  The  different  plateaus,  which  form  so 
mam-  steps  to  be  mounted,  and  which  are  invisible 
from  below,  revealed  themselves  to  our  e3-es,  and,  by 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  261 

llie  laws  of  perspective,  made  the  mucli-desired  sum- 
mit seem  stiU  farther  away.  The  Glacier  des  Bossons, 
in  all  its  splendor,  bristled  with  ice-needles  and 
seracs  *  (blocks  of  ice,  sometimes  measuring  ten  feet 
sidewise),  which,  like  the  waves  of  an  angry  sea, 
seemed  to  beat  against  the  rock}'  walls  of  the  Grands 
Mulcts,  whose  base  disappeared  in  their  midst. 

This  wonderful  spectacle  was  ill  calculated  to  chill 
my  ardor ;  and  I  resolved  more  firmlj'  than  ever  to  ex- 
plore this  world,  as  yet  unknown  to  me. 

My  companion  was  equally  enthusiastic  ;  and  I  began 
to  think  that  I  should  not  be  left  to  go  up  Mont  Blanc 
alone. 

TVe  went  down  to  Chamouni.  The  weather  was  clear- 
ing by  degrees.  The  barometer  continued  to  rise 
slowly :  every  thing  looked  favorable. 

The  next  day,  at  dawn,  I  hurried  to  the  head  guide. 
The  sky  was  cloudless :  the  wind,  hardly  stirring  a 
leaf,  was  firm  north-east.  The  Mont  Blanc  range, 
whose  principal  peaks  were  gilded  b}-  the  ra3's  of  the 
rising  sun,  seemed  inviting  travellers  to  a  visit.  One 
could  not  refuse  so  amiable  an  invitation,  without 
rudeness.     M.  Balmat,  having  consulted  his  barome- 

*  In  the  chalets  of  Savoy,  after  the  richer  ciird  has  been  pre- 
cipitated by  rennet,  a  stronger  acid  is  used  to  thi'O'n'  down  what 
remains:  an  inferior  kind  of  cheese,  called  seme,  is  thus  formed, 
the  shape  and  color  of  which  have  suggested  the  application  of 
the  term  to  these  cubical  masses  of  ice. 


262  FORTIETU  FRENCU  ASCENT 

ter,  declared  an  ascent  feasible,  and  promised  me  two 
guides,  and  the  porter  prescribed  by  law.  I  left  him 
to  choose  them.  But  an  unexpected  event  somewhat 
disturbed  my  preparations  for  departure. 

As  I  left  the  office,  I  met  Edouard  Ravanal,  my 
guide  of  the  previous  day. 

"  Is  monsieui'  going  up  Mont  Blanc?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  of  course  ! "  I  answered.  "  Don't  you  think 
it's  a  good  day  ?  " 

He  thought  a  few  moments,  and,  with  a  look  of  con- 
straint, said,  — 

"Sir,  3'ou  are  xn.y  traveller:  I  took  you  up  Brevent 
yesterda}'.  I  cannot  desert  3'ou ;  and,  if  yo\x  insist 
upon  going  up,  I  will  go  with  you,  if  jon  will  accept 
my  services.  You  have  the  right  to  do  so  ;  for,  in  all 
dangerous  ascents,  the  traveller  ma}^  choose  his  own 
guides.  Only,  if  3'ou  accept  mj'  offer,  I  should  like  jo\x 
to  take  m}'  brother,  Ambroise  Ravanal,  and  my  cousin, 
Gaspard  Simond,  too.  They  are  brave  young  fellows. 
The}-  don't  like  such  a  trip  any  better  than  I  do  ;  but 
they  won't  shirk  their  w^ork,  and  I  can  answer  for 
them  as  for  mj'self." 

The  fellow  inspired  confidence.  I  accepted,  and 
retm-ned  without  loss  of  time,  to  warn  the  head  guide 
of  the  choice  I  had  made. 

But,  during  this  parlej',  M.  Balmat  had  made  appli- 
cation to  his  guides  in  turn.  Only  one  had  accepted, 
Edouard   Simond.     He  was  waiting   a   reply  from   a 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  2Gb 

second,  named  Jean  Carrier.  There  was  no  doubt  as 
to  what  it  would  be  ;  for  he  had  already  been  up  Mont 
Blanc  twent3--niue  times.  I  was  very  much  embar- 
rassed. The  guides  I  had  chosen  were  all  from  Ar- 
gentiere,  a  district  six  miles  away  from  Chamouni. 
The  Chamouni  guides  would,  therefore,  accuse  Ra- 
vanal  of  prejudicing  me  in  favor  of  his  family-,  which 
was  against  the  rule. 

To  cut  short  the  discussion,  I  took  Edouard  Simond, 
fv'ho  had  already  made  his  preparations,  as  third  guide. 

He  would  be  of  no  use  if  I  went  up  alone  ;  but  I 
should  need  him  if  m^'  friend  went  with  me. 

This  settled,  I  went  to  wake  Donatien  Levesque. 
T  found  him  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just,  who  has 
travelled  fifteen  miles  on  a  mountain  the  day  before. 
It  was  rather  hard  to  rouse  him  ;  but  by  dint  of  pulling 
off,  first  the  sheets,  then  the  pillows,  and  finalh'  the 
mattress,  I  made  some  impression,  and  succeeded  in 
making  him  understand  that  I  was  preparing  for  my 
gi'and  journey. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  yawning,  "  I'll  go  with  3'ou  as  far 
as  the  Grands  Mulcts,  and  wait  your  return  there." 

"Bravo!"  I  replied.  "  I  have  just  one  guide  too 
man}',  and  I'll  attach  him  to  3'our  person." 

We  bought  such  things  as  are  requisite  for  a  journey 
over  the  glaciers,  —  alpen-stocks,  thick  cloth  gaiters, 
green  spectacles  fitting  close  to  our  ej-es,  fur  gloves, 
green  veils,  &c.,  forgetting   nothing.     We  had   each 


264  FORTIETH   FRENCH  ASCENT 

good  triple-soled  shoes,  which  our  guides  sent  to  be 
rough  shod.  This  latter  detail  is  most  impoitant ; 
for  there  are  moments  in  such  an  expedition,  when  a 
slip  would  be  fatal,  not  only  to  one's  self,  but  to  the 
whole  part}'. 

These  preparations  consumed  nearly  two  hours. 
About  eight  o'clock  our  mules  were  brought  round, 
and  we  started  for  the  chalet  de  la  Pierre  Pointue, 
which  stands  two  thousand  feet  high,  perhaps  one 
thousand  feet  above  the  Chamouni  Valley,  and  two 
thousand  and  eight  hundred  feet  below  the  summit  of 
Mont  Blanc. 

On  reaching  Pierre  Pointue,  at  ten  o'clock,  we  found 

a  Spanish  traveller,  M.*N ,  with  two  guides  and 

a  porter.  His  chief  guide,  Paccard,  a  relative  of  Dr. 
Paccard,  who  made  the  first  ascent  of  Mont   Blanc, 

had  alread}'  been  up  eighteen  times.     M.  X was 

also  intending  to  make  the  ascent.  He  had  travelled 
a  great  deal  in  iSmerica,  and  crossed  the  Andean  Cor- 
dilleras from  the  Quito  side,  wading  through  snow  in 
the  highest  passes :  he  therefore  felt  that  he  could 
easil}'  cany  through  this  fresh  undertaking ;  but  he 
was  deceived.  He  had  not  taken  into  account  the 
steepness  of  the  peaks  he  was  to  climb,  nor  the  rarity 
of  the  air. 

I  hasten  to  add,  in  his  honor,  that,  if  he  reached  the 
top  of  Mont  Blanc,  it  was  thanks  to  rare  moral  energy  ; 
for  ph3-sical  force  had  long  since  been  exhausted. 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  265 

"We  ate  as  much  breakfast  as  possible  at  Pierre 
Pointue.  This  was  a  precautionary  measiu'e  ;  for  the 
appetite  generally  disappears  on  entering  frozen 
regions. 

M.  N and  his   guides   started  for   the   Grands 

Mulets  at  eleven.  "We  did  not  get  off  till  noon.  The 
mule-track  ceases  at  Pierre  Pointue.  We  then  climbed 
up  a  steep  zigzag  path,  following  "the  course  of  the 
Glacier  des  Bossons,  and  running  along  the  base  of 
the  Aiguille  du  Midi.  After  an  hour's  hard  work  in 
intense  heat,  we  reached  a  point  called  Pierre  a 
I'Echelle,  twentj'-seven  hundred  feet  up.  There,  trav- 
ellers and  guides  fastened  themselves  together  with  a 
strong  rope,  leaving  a  space  of  three  or  four  j-ards 
between  each  couple.  Here,  in  fact,  we  entered  the 
Glacier  des  Bossons.  This  glacier,  difficult  of  access, 
is  filled  with  yawning  and  bottomless  crevasses  on  every 
hand.  The  steep  walls  of  these  crevasses  are  of  a 
vague  bluish  green,  too  seductive  b}'  far ;  for  if  one 
draws  cautiously  near,  and  peers  into  their  mysterious 
depths,  he  is  violently  attracted  downwards,  and  noth- 
ing seems  more  natural  than  to  take  a  turn  there. 

We  ad^'anced  slowly,  sometimes  passing  round  the 
crevasses,  sometimes  crossing  them  with  ladders  or  on 
snow-bridges  of  problematic  strength.  Here  the  rope 
came  into  pla}-.  It  was  drawn  taut  during  the  daugcr- 
ous  passage  :  if  the  snow-bridge  should  break,  guide 
or  traveller  would  be  left  suspended  over  the  abj-ss. 

23 


'2Q6  FORTIETH  FRENCH  ASCEXT 

He  could  then  be  drawu  up,  and  escape  with  a  fe\^ 
bruises.  Sometimes,  if  the  crevasse  was  ver}-  wide, 
but  not  deep,  we  went  down  it,  and  came  up  on  the 
other  side.  In  this  case,  steps  were  cut  in  the  ice ; 
and  the  two  head  guides,  armed  with  hatchets,  or 
rather  adzes,  addressed  themselves  to  the  painful  and 
perilous  task. 

One  thing  rendered  the  entrance  to  the  Bossons 
specially  dangerous.  We  took  the  glacier  at  the  foot 
of  the  Aiguille  du  Midi,  and  opposite  a  pass  where 
avalanches  of  stones  often  occurred.  This  pass  was 
about  two  hundi'cd  feet  wide.  "We  crossed  quickly ; 
and,  during  the  passage,  one  of  the  guides  stood  sen- 
try, to  warn  us  if  danger  threatened. 

In  18G9  a  guide  was  killed  on  this  spot ;  and  his 
bod}-,  hurled  into  space  b}-  a  stone,  was  cnished  on  the 
rocks  three  hundred  feet  below. 

TVe  were  forewarned,  so  hastened  our  steps  as  much 
as  our  inexperience  permitted ;  but,  on  leaving  this 
dangerous  zone,  another  no  less  frightful  awaited  us. 
This  was  the  region  of  seracs,  huge  blocks  of  ice, 
whose  formation  is  not  yet  thoroughlj-  understood. 
These  seracs  are  generallj'  arranged  along  the  edge  of 
a  plateau,  and  threaten  the  whole  valley-  beneath.  A 
simple  movement  in  the  glacier,  or  even  a  slight  vibra- 
tion of  the  air,  would  determine  their  fall,  and  cause 
most  serious  accidents. 

"  Gentlemen,  silence  here,  and  move  quickly  !  " 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  267 

These  words,  uttered  in  harsh  tones  hy  one  of  our 
guides,  put  an  end  to  conversation.  We  moved  quickly 
and  in  silence.  Finally,  from  emotion  to  emotion,  we 
reached  the  Junction,  which  might  more  justly  be  called 
the  violent  Separation,  by  the  Montague  de  la  Cote, 
Glaciers  des  Bossons  and  Taccona}-.  Here  the  scene 
assumed  a  weird  character.  Crevasses  of  rainbow  hues, 
slender  ice-needles,  transparent,  overhanging  seracs, 
and  little  blue-green  lakes,  formed  an  unimaginable 
chaos.  Add  to  all  this,  the  rumbling  of  torrents  below 
the  glacier,  the  sinister  and  oft-repeated  cracks  of 
masses  which  break  loose,  and  are  dashed  to  the  bot- 
tom of  crevasses,  tremblings  of  the  ground  which 
gives  way  under  3-ou,  and  3'ou  will  have  some  idea  of 
these  gloomy  and  desolate  districts,  where  life  is  only 
revealed  in  desti'uction  and  in  death. 

Having  passed  the  Junction,  we  followed  the  Glacier 
de  la  Tacconay  for  some  distance,  and  reached  the 
slope  which  led  to  the  Grands  Mulcts.  This  slope  is 
very  steep,  and  had  to  be  climbed  b}'  zigzags  ;  the  head 
guide  taking  care  to  trace  them  at  an  angle  of  thirt}' 
degrees,  where  the  snow  was  soft,  for  fear  of  avalanches. 

Fin  all}-,  after  thi'ee  hours'  scramble  over  snow  and 
ice,  we  reached  the  Grands  Mulcts,  rocks  two  hundred 
feet  high,  overlooking  the  Glacier  des  Bossons  on  one 
side,  and  the  inclined  plains  of  neve,  which  stretch  to 
the  foot  of  the  Dome  du  Goute,  on  the  other. 

A  small  hut,  built  b}'  the  guides  near  the  summit  of 


268  FORTIETH  FRENCH  ASCENT 

the  fii'st  cliff,  and  staudiug  3,050  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  sea,  offers  a  shelter  to  travellers,  and  permits 
them  to  wait  the  horn-  of  departm'e  for  the  top  of  Mont 
Blanc  under  cover. 

We  dined  here  as  best  we  could,  and  slept  the  same  ; 
but  the  proverb,  "  Who  sleeps  dines,"  had  no  meaning 
at  this  height ;  for  we  could  do  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  in  earnest. 

"Well,"  said  I  to  Levesqpie,  after  a  mere  pretence 
at  a  meal,  "  did  I  exaggerate  the  splendors  of  the 
scene?   and  do  3'ou  regret  having  come  thus  far? " 

"  So  far  from  regretting  it,"  he  replied,  "  I  have 
determined  to  go  on  to  the  end.  You  maj'  count  upon 
me." 

"  Ver}^  well,"  said  I ;  "  but  you  know  that  the  hai-d- 
est  part  is  yet  to  come." 

"Pshaw!"  said  he,  "we'll  soon  get  the  better  of 
it.  Meanwhile,  let  us  go  and  look  at  the  sunset,  which 
will  be  superb." 

In  fact,  the  skj'  was  wonderfull}'  clear.  The  chain  of 
the  Brevent  and  the  Aiguilles  Rouges  lay  at  our  feet. 
Beyond,  the  Rochers  des  Fj'z  and  Aiguille  de  Varan 
rose  above  the  valley  of  Sallenches,  and  threw  into  the 
background  the  whole  chain  of  Monts  Fleury  and  du 
Reposoir ;  farther  to  the  left,  Buet  with  his  snowy 
peaks,  and  the  Dent  du  Midi  with  its  five  jagged  ix)ints, 
crowned  the  Valley  of  the  Rhone ;  behind  us  eternal 
snow,  the  Dome  du  Goute,  Monts  Maudits  and  Mont 
Blanc. 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  269 

Little  by  little  the  shadows  crept  over  the  Chamouui 
valley,  and  gained  one  b}'  one  the  peaks  which  close 
it  in  on  the  west.  The  Mont  Blanc  chain  alone  re- 
mained in  sunlight,  and  seemed  encircled  with  a  golden 
aureole.  Soon  the  shadows  stole  up  the  Dome  du  Goute 
and  Monts  Maudits.  The}-  still  respected  the  giant  of 
the  Alps.  We  followed  this  slow  and  gradual  fading 
of  daylight  with  admiring  eyes.  It  clung  some  time 
to  the  last  peak,  insensibl}'  inspiring  the  hope  that  it 
would  never  quit  it.  But  in  a  few  minutes  everj^ 
thing  was  dark,  and  the  livid  and  cadaverous  hues  of 
death  succeeded  the  brilliant  tints  of  day.  I  exagger- 
ate nothing :  he  who  loves  mountains  will  understand 
me. 

After  assisting  at  this  magnificent  spectacle,  we  had 
only  to  await  the  hour  of  departure.  We  were  to 
start  at  two  in  the  morning.  Each  one  stretched 
himself  on  his  mattress. 

It  was  vain  to  think  of  sleeping,  not  much  less  so 
of  talking.  We  were  absorbed  hy  more  or  less  glooms- 
thoughts.  It  was  the  night  before  the  battle,  with 
this  difference,  that  we  were  not  forced  to  go  into 
fight.  Two  cun-ents  of  ideas  disputed  the  possession 
of  m}'  mind.  Like  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tide,  each 
one  gained  in  turn.  Objections  to  such  a  trip  were 
not  wanting.  What  was  the  use  of  running  such  a 
risk?  If  I  succeeded,  where  would  be  the  advantage? 
If  an   accident  should  happen,  how  I  should   regret 

23* 


270  FORTIETH  FRENCH  ASCENT 

going  !  Then  Imagination  lent  her  aid  :  every  possi- 
ble catastrophe  occurred  to  me.  I  dreamed  of  snow- 
bridges  giving  way  beneath  my  feet ;  I  felt  myself 
dashed  down  gaping  chasms  ;  I  heard  the  frightful  roar 
of  avalanches  descending  to  crush  me  ;  I  vanished 
beneath  them :  a  mortal  chill  seized  upon  me,  and  I 
struggled  frantically. 

A  harsh  sound,  something  horrible,  was  heard. 

"  The  avalanche,  tTie  avalanche  !  "  I  cried. 

"  What  is  it?  what  are  you  about?  "  cried  Levesque, 
starting  up. 

Alas  !  It  was  a  piece  of  furniture,  which,  in  my 
nightmare  dream,  I  had  knocked  noisilj^  over.  This 
prosaic  avalanche  recalled  me  to  reality.  I  laughed 
at  my  alarm :  the  contrary  current  came  to  the  top, 
and  with  it  its  ambitious  ideas.  It  depended  upon  my 
own  will,  with  a  little  exertion,  to  gain  the  summit  so 
rarely  reached.  It  was  a  \'ictory  in  its  way.  Accidents 
are  rare,  very  rare;  in  fact,  were  there  ever  any? 
The  view  must  be  wonderful  from  the  top.  And  then 
what  a  satisfaction  to  do  what  so  few  dare  undertake ! 

At  these  thoughts  my  soul  grew  strong,  and  I 
awaited  the  hour  of  departui-e  calml3\ 

About  one  o'clock,  steps,  voices,  opening  and  shut- 
ting doors,  announced  that  the  time  was  at  hand. 
Soon  M.  Ravanal  came  in,  sajing,  — 

"  Come,  gentlemen,  get  up  !  the  weather  is  superb. 
We  shall  reach  the  top  by  ten  o'clock." 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  271 

At  these  words  we  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  dressed 
qnickl}'.  Two  of  our  guides,  Ambroise  Eavanal  and 
his  cousin  Simond,  went  before  to  try  the  road.  The^' 
carried  lanterns  for  our  guidance,  and  hatchets  to 
smooth  rough  places,  and  cut  steps  when  necessary. 
At  two  o'clock  we  were  tied  together  in  the  following 
order  :  befoi'e  me  and  at  the  head,  Edouard  RaA-anal ; 
behind  me,  Edouard  Simond,  then  Donatien  LcA'esque  ; 
after  him,  our  two  porters  (for  we  had  hired  the  servant- 
man  from  the  cabin  of  the  Grands  Mulcts)  and  M. 
N" 's  whole  party. 

The  guides  and  porters  divided  the  provisions  be- 
tween them  ;  the  signal  for  departure  was  given  ;  and 
we  set  out  in  thick  darkness,  following  the  lanterns, 
borne  b}^  the  guides  who  had  gone  ahead. 

There  was  something  solemn  about  our  start.  Few 
words  were  uttered.  The  vague  unknown  awed  us  ;  but 
the  new  and  strange  situation  excited  us,  and  rendered  us 
insensible  to  our  danger.  The  surrounding  landscape 
was  weird  and  grand.  All  outlines  were  indistinct. 
Fluge  whitish  masses,  with  black  spots  rather  more 
pronounced,  shut  in  the  horizon.  The  heavenly  arch 
shone  with  unusual  brilliancy.  At  an  inappreciable 
distance  gleamed  the  swaying  lanterns  of  the  guides, 
who  were  cutting  a  road  for  us ;  and  the  melancholy 
silence  of  the  night  was  undisturbed,  save  b}'  the  drj' 
and  distant  sound  of  their  axes  as  they  hewed  out  steps 
in  the  ice. 


272  FORTIETn  FRENCH  ASCENT 

"We  climbed  the  first  acclivity  slowly  and  cautiously, 
turaing  towards  the  base  of  the  Dome  du  Goute.  After 
two  hours'  painful  scramble,  we  reached  the  first  pla- 
teau, called  "  Petit  Plateau,"  Ijing  at  the  foot  of  the 
Dome  du  Goute,  at  a  height  of  3,G50  feet.  Having 
rested  a  few  minutes,  we  resumed  our  journe}-,  turning 
to  the  left  on  our  way  to  the  Grand  Plateau. 

But   our  little    baud  had  already  diminished.     M. 

N. and   his   guides   had  cut  loose :   their  fatigue 

forced  them  to  rest  a  little  longer. 

Towards  half-past  four,  dawn  began  to  blanch  the 
horizon.  We  were  just  mounting  the  incline  which 
leads  to  the  Grand  Plateau,  whi«h  we  reached  without 
delaj'.  We  were  thirty-nine  hundred  feet  high.  We 
had  certainl}-  earned  our  brealvfast.  Contrary'  to  cus- 
tom, Levesque  and  I  had  fine  appetites.  That  was  a 
good  sign.  We  sat  down  in  the  snow,  and  made  a 
hearty  meal.  Our  guides  were  in  capital  spirits,  and 
felt  sure  of  success.  For  my  part,  I  thought  them 
rather  hasty. 

A  few  moments  later,  M.  N rejoined  us.     We 

insisted  that  he  should  eat  something.  He  refused 
obstinatel}'.  He  felt  that  contraction  of  tlie  stomach 
so  common  in  these  regions,  and  was  much  depressed. 

The  Grand  Plateau  merits  a  special  description. 
To  the  right  rises  the  Dome  du  Goute.  In  front  is 
Mont  Blanc,  which  towers  nine  hundred  feet  above.  On 
the  left  are  the  Rochers  Rousres  and  Monts  Maudits, 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  273 

The  immense  circle  was  dazzlingly  white.  On  every 
side  were  enormous  fissures.  Three  of  the  guides  who 
accompanied  Dr.  Hamel  and  Col.  Anderson  in  1820 
were  swallowed  up  by  one  of  them.  Since  that  time, 
in  1864,  another  guide,  Ambroise  Couttet,  has  per- 
ished there. 

This  plateau  must  be  crossed  with  great  precaution, 
for  there  are  often  fissures  beneath  the  snow.  Besides, 
it  is  frequently  swept  clear  by  avalanches.  The  loth 
of  October,  1866,  an  English  traveller  and  three  guides 
Avere  buried  under  a  mountain  of  ice  which  fell  from 
Mont  Blanc.  After  long  and  perilous  search,  the  bo- 
dies of  the  three  guides  were  found.  Thej'  were  every 
instant  expecting  to  find  that  of  the  traveller,  when  a 
fresh  avalanche  came  thundering  down  in  the  first  one's 
track,  and  forced  them  to  give  up  their  task. 

We  had  our  choice  of  three  roads.  The  common 
road,  which  goes  to  the  left,  at  the  base  of  the  Monts 
Maudits,  a  sort  of  valley  called  La  Porche  or  Le  Corri- 
dor, leads  by  moderate  slopes  to  the  top  of  the  first 
ridge  of  the  Rochers  Rouges. 

The  second,  less  travelled,  turns  to  the  right  by  the 
Dome  du  Goute,  and  reaches  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc 
by  the  ridge  which  connects  the  two  mountains.  You 
must  pursue  a  dizz}'  path  for  three  hours,  and  cross  a 
slippery  field  of  live  ice,  known  as  the  "  Dromedary's 
Humps." 

The  third  plan  was  to  climb  directly  to  the  top  of 


274  FORTIETH   FRENCH  ASCENT 

the  Corridor,  over  a  wall  of  ice  two  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  high,  which  runs  along  the  first  ridge  of  the  Rochers 
Rouges. 

The  guides  declaring  the  first  route  impracticable,  on 
account  of  fresh  fissures  which  completely  blocked  it, 
we  were  left  to  decide  between  the  remaining  two.  I 
voted  for  the  first,  which  passes  over  the  Dromedarj-'s 
Humps  ;  but  it  was  consideied  too  dangerous  :  and  it 
was  determined  that  we  should  attack  the  w*ll  of  ice 
which  leads  to  the  top  of  the  Corridor. 

When  a  resolve  is  once  made,  it  is  best  to  carry  it 
out  at  once.  We  crossed  the  Grand  Plateau,  and 
reached  the  foot  of  the  trul}-  terrible  obstacle. 

The  nearer  we  came,  the  steeper  seemed  the  incline. 
Moreover,  several  crevasses,  which  we  had  not  noticed, 
opened  at  om-  feet. 

Nevertheless,  we  began  our  laborious  ascent.  The 
fii'st  guide  rough-hewed  the  steps,  the  second  finished 
them.  We  made  two  steps  a  minute.  The  higher  we 
got,  the  steeper  grew  the  incline.  Even  our  guides 
consulted  as  to  the  road  to  be  followed.  The}-  tallied 
in  patois^  and  were  not  agreed,  which  was  a  bad  sign. 
At  last  the  slope  was  so  vertical,  that  our  hat-brims 
touched  the  legs  of  the  guide  who  preceded  us.  A 
hail-storm  of  ice,  produced  b}'  the  cutting  of  the  steps, 
blinded  us,  and  rendered  oiu"  position  still  more  painful. 
Then  addressing  our  advance  guides,  I  said,  — 

"  Come,  now  !  it's  all  verj-  well  to  get  up  here.    It's 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  275 

not  a  highway,  I  admit ;  but  still  it's  passable  :  onl}*, 
how  are  you  going  to  get  us  down  again  ?  " 

"Oh,  sir!"  replied  Ambroise  Ravanal,  "we  shall 
take  another  road  coming  down." 

Finall}',  after  two  hours  of  violent  exertion,  and  after 
cutting  more  than  four  himdi'ed  steps  in  the^  fearful 
slope,  we  reached  the  top  of  the  Comdor,  quite  ex- 
hausted. 

We  then  crossed  a  slightly-inclined  plateau  of  snow, 
coasting  b}'  a  huge  crevasse  which  barred  our  way. 
Hardly  had  we  gone  round  it,  when  a  cr}"  of  admiration 
escaped  us.  On  the  right.  Piedmont  and  the  plains  of 
Lombardy  lay  at  our  feet.  On  the  left,  the  snow-cov- 
ered Pennine  and  Oberland  Alps  reared  their  beautiful 
heads.  Monte  Eosa  and  Mont  Cervin  alone  towered 
above  us  ;  but  soon  we  should  pass  them  too. 

This  thought  brought  us  back  to  oui-  goal.  "We 
turned  towards  Mont  Blanc,  and  stood  stupefied. 

"Heavens!  How  far  awaj'  it  is  still !"  cried  Le- 
vesque. 

"  And  how  high  ! "  I  added. 

It  was  indeed  discouraging.  The  famous  and  much- 
dreaded  Mur  de  la  Cote,  which  must  be  crossed,  lay 
l)efore  us  at  an  inclination  of  fifty  degrees  ;  but,  having 
scaled  the  Corridor,  it  did  not  alann  us.  We  rested 
half  an  hour,  then  we  continued  our  road  ;  but  we  soon 
saw  that  the  air  was  not  the  same.  The  sun  beat 
down  with  fier}'  rays,  whose  refiection  from  the  snow 


276  FORTIETH  FRENCH  ASCENT 

doubled  our  tortures.  The  rarefaction  of  the  air 
began  to  work  cruelly  upon  us.  "We  advanced 
slowi}',  making  frequent  haltsj,  and  at  last  gained 
the  plateau  which  ci'owns  the  second  ridge  of  the 
Rochers  Rouges.  "We  were  at  the  foot  of  Mont  Blanc. 
He  rose,  majestic  and  alone,  two  hundred  feet  above 
us.     Even  Monte  Rosa  had  bowed  to  him. 

Levesque  and  I  were  absolutel}-  worn  out.     As  for 

M.  N ,  who   had  rejoined  us  on  the  Corridor,  we 

maj'  say  that  he  was  insensible  to  the  rarefaction  of 
the  air  ;  for  he  had  fairlj'  ceased  to  breathe. 

"We  now  began  to  mount  the  last  stage.  "We  took 
ten  steps,  and  paused,  from  sheer  inability  to  go  on.  A 
painful  contraction  of  the  thi'oat  made  our  breathing 
even  more  labored.  Om*  legs  refused  to  serve  us  ;  and 
I  now  understood  Jacques  Balmat's  di-amatic  expres- 
sion, when,  in  recounting  his  first  ascent,  he  said  that 
"  his  legs  were  only  held  up  b}'  his  trousers."  But  a 
stronger  feeling  mastered  wearied  nature  ;  and,  though 
the  bod}'  craved  grace,  the  heart  cried  out,  "  Excelsior, 
excelsior ! "  stifled  the  despairing  cry,  and  m-ged  on 
our  worn-out  frames  in  spite  of  themselves.  Thus  we 
passed  the  Petits  Mulcts,  rocks  4,G66  feet  above  the 
sea-;  and  after  two  hours  of  superhuman  effort  we  over- 
looked the  whole  range.     Mont  Blanc  was  below  us. 

It  was  quarter-past  twelve. 

The  glor}'  of  success  soon  restored  our  strength. 
"We  had  conquered  the  redoubtable  peak.     "W^e  towered 


OF   MOXT   BLANC.  277 

above  all  others  ;  and  this  thought,  which  Mont  Blaue 
alone  can  inspire,  caused  us  profound  emotion.  Ambi- 
tion was  satisfied,  and  for  me,  at  least,  a  dream  was 
realized. 

Mont  Blanc  is  the  loftiest  peak  in  Europe.  There 
are  a  few  higher  mountains  in  Europe  and  America ; 
but  what  would  be  the  good  of  naming  them,  when 
there's  no  possibilit}-  of  climbing  them  ? 

Some,  such  as  the  Cerviu,  are  more  difficult  of  access  ; 
but  we  looked  down  upon  its  summit,  four  hundred 
feet  below. 

And  then  what  a  ^iew  we  had  to  reward  us  for  our 
pains !  The  heaven,  still  cleap,  assumed  a  darker 
blue.  The  sun,  despoiled  of  some  of  his  beams,  had 
lost  his  lustre,  as  if  partiall}-  eclipsed.  This  effect, 
due  to  the  rarefaction  of  the  air,  was  the  more  appar- 
ent, that  the  sm-rounding  plains  and  mountains  were 
bathed  in  light.     Thus  no  detail  escaped  us. 

To  the  south-east,  the  mountains  of  Piedmont,  and, 
farther  on,  the  plains  of  Lombardy,  bounded  the  horizon  ; 
on  the  west,  the  mountains  of  Savoy  and  Dauphiny ; 
beyond,  the  Rhone  Valley  ;  to  the  north-west,  the  Lake 
of  Geneva  and  the  Jura  ;  then,  descending  southward, 
an  indescribable  chaos  of  mountains  and  glaciers, 
crowned  by  Monte  Rosa,  the  Mischabelhorner,  CerAin, 
and  Weisshorn,  the  most  beautiful  of  mountain-peaks, 
as  that  famous  Alpine  climber,  Prof.  Tyudall,  calls  it, 
and,  farther  on,  by  the  Jungfrau,  Monch,  JEggischhorn, 
and  Finsteraarhorn.  24 


278  FORTIETH  FRENCH  ASCENT 

The  extent  of  our  ^iew  could  not  have  been  esti- 
mated at  less  than  sixty  leagues.  At  least  one  hun- 
di'ed  and  twenty  leagues  of  country  lay  before  us. 

The  beauty  of  the  spectacle  was  to  be  even  more 
increased.  Clouds  collected  on  the  Italian  side,  and 
invaded  the  valleys  of  the  Pennine  Alps,  vrithout  veil- 
ing their  summits.  "We  soon  had  a  second  and  inferior 
sky  below  us,  —  a  sea  of  clouds,  from  whence  issued  a 
perfect  archipelago  of  snow-capped  peaks  and  moun- 
tains. It  was  something  more  magical  than  a  poet's 
sublimest  fancy  could  paint. 

The  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  forms  a  direct  line  from 
south-west  to  north-east,  two  hundred  paces  long,  and 
a  foot  broad  at  the  highest  point.  It  looks  like  a  ship's 
hull  upside  down,  keel  uppermost. 

For  a  wonder,  the  temperature  was  far  from  low, 
being  ten  degrees  above  zero.  There  was  hardly  any 
air  stirring.  Occasionall}^  a  light  easterly'  breeze  was 
felt. 

Our  guides'  first  care  had  been  to  seat  us  in  line  on 
the  ridge  fronting  Chamouni,  that  spectators  might 
count'  us  more  easil}*,  and  assure  themselves  that  no 
one  failed  to  answer  the  roll-call.  Numbers  of  tourists 
had  gone  up  the  Brevent  and  to  the  Jardin  to  watch 
our  ascent.     The}'  could  testify  to  our  success. 

But  it's  one  thing  to  go  up,  and  another  to  come 
down.  The  most  difficult,  if  not  the  most  fatiguing 
part,  remains  to  be  done.     And  then  one   is   always 


OF  MONT  BLANC.  279 

reluctant  to  leave  a  height  couquered  at  the  price  of 
such  labor :  the  impulse  which  urged  him  up,  the 
natural  and  imperious  desire  for  rule,  are  gone  ;  he 
walks  languidly-,  looking  back  frequeutl}'. 

But  our  time  was  up.  After  a  last  libation  of  the 
traditional  champagne,  we  set  off.  We  had  rested  an 
hour  on  top.     The  order  of  march  was  changed.     M. 

N 's  party  went  ahead  ;  and  at  the  request  of  his 

guide,  Paccard,  we  were  all  fastened  together.     M. 

N 's  fatigue  —  his  strength,  not  his  will,  betraying 

him — caused  fears  of  a  fall,  which  our  united  efforts 
might  prevent.     The  event  justified  our  apprehensions. 

In  descending  the  Mur  de  la  Cote,  M.  N made 

several  missteps.  His  guides,  being  very  strong  and 
skilful,  were  fortunately  able  to  break  his  fall ;  but 
ours,  fearing,  and  with  reason,  that  the  whole  party 
might  be  dragged  down,  insisted  on  leaving  them. 
Levesque  and  I  refused;  and,  by  taking  the  greatest 
care,  we  reached  the  foot  of  the  giddy  slope  in  safety. 
No  illusion  was  possible  there.  The  abj'ss,  the  almost 
bottomless  gulf,  was  before  us  ;  and  loose  fragments  of 
ice,  bounding  by  us  with  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow, 
plainly  marked  the  fate  of  our  party,  if  we  should 
chance  to  slip. 

This  bad  place  once  crossed,  I  breathed  freely.  We 
descended  the  slight  incline  leading  to  the  summit  of 
the  Conidor.  The  snow,  softened  by  the  heat,  gave 
way  beneath  oui'  tread  ;  we  sank  knee-deep  in  it,  which 


280  FORTIETH  FRENCH   ASCENT 

made  walidng  ver}'  tiresome.  We  followed  our  own 
tracks;  and  I  was  sm-prised  when  Gaspard  Simond, 
turning  towards  me,  said,  — 

"Sir,  we  can  take  no  other  road.  The  Corridor  is 
impassable ;  and  we  absolutely'  must  descend  h\  the 
mur  we  climbed  up  this  morning." 

I  communicated  the  disagreeable  news  to  Levesque. 

"But,"  added  Gaspard,  "1  do  not  think  we  can 
remain  tied  together.  However,  we'll  wait  and  see 
how  M.  N behaves  at  the  outset." 

We  advanced  towards  the  terrible  mur.     M.  N 's 

party  began  their  downward  course,  and  we  heard  the 
harsh  tones  in  which  Paccard  addressed  him.  The 
slope  became  so  steep,  that  we  could  see  neither  him 
nor  his  guides,  although  we  were  still  fastened  to 
them. 

As  soon  as  Gaspard  Simond,  who  preceded  me, 
saw  what  was  going  on,  he  stopped,  and,  after  exchan- 
ging a  few  words  in  patois  with  his  comrades,  declared 
that  "we  must  separate  from  INI.  N 's  party. 

"  "We  can  answer  for  3'ou,"  he  added  ;  "  but  we  can- 
not answer  for  others  ;  and,  if  they  slip,  thej^  will  di'ag 
us  with  them." 

So  saying,  he  cut  the  rope. 

It  cost  us  much  to  take  this  part ;  but  our  gi  ides 
were   firm.     We  then  proposed  to  send  two  of  them 

forward  to  assist  M.  N 's  guides.     The}'  eagerlj* 

agreed,  but,  having  no  rope,  were  unable  to  do  so. 


OF  MONT   BLANC.  281 

^Ve  then  began  our  fearful  descent.  But  one  of  us 
moved  at  a  time  ;  and,  when  he  took  a  step,  all  the 
others  stood  firm,  read}'  to  resist  the  shock  if  he  should 
fall.  The  head  guide,  Edouard  Ravanal,  had  the  most 
dangerous  duty  :  he  had  to  re-cut  those  steps,  destroA^ed 
or  inj'ured  by  the  passage  of  the  foremost  part}'. 

We  advanced  slowly  and  with  the  utmost  caution. 
Our  road  led  in  a  straight  line  to  one  of  the  crevasses 
which  yawned  at  the  foot  of  the  ridge.  When  we  came 
up,  we  could  not  look  at  it ;  but  now  the  green  and 
gaping  mouth  fascinated  us.  Every  block  of  ice  which 
we  had  detached  in  passing  seemed  to  give  the  other 
the  cue.  With  three  bounds  the}'  plunged  down,  as  if 
into  the  minotaur's  jaws.  Only  the  minotaur's  jaws 
closed  after  each  mouthful :  not  so  here ;  the  greedy 
crevasse  was  always  open  wide,  and  seemed  waiting 
for  a  more  worthy  victim.  We  strained  every  muscle 
to  escape  being  that  victim.  To  resist  the  fascination, 
the  moral  vertigo  if  I  may  so  call  it,  we  tried  to  jest 
about  our  ticklish  position,  which  not  even  a  chamois 
would  have  enjoyed.  We  went  so  far  as  to  hum  a  few 
couplets  by  Mtestro  Offenbach ;  but,  to  tell  the  strict 
truth,  our  jests  were  feeble,  and  our  singing  out  of 
tune.  I  even  noticed,  without  surprise,  that  Levesque 
persisted  in  singing  words  from  "  Barbe  Bleue "  to 
music  from  "  Trovatore,"  which  denoted  singular 
absence  of  mind.  In  fine,  to  cheer  ourselves  up,  we 
imitated  those  sham  heroes  who  sing  in  the  dark  to 
keep  up  their  courage.  24* 


282  FORTIETH   FRENCH  ASCENT 

We  hung  thus  between  life  and  death  for  an  hour, 
which  seemed  to  us  an  eternitj-,  and  finally  reached  the 

foot  of  that  terrible  ridge.     "We  found  M.  N and 

his  guides  safe  and  sound. 

After  resting  a  few  moments,  we  resumed  our  jour- 
ney. As  we  approached  the  Petit  Plateau,  Edouard 
Ravanal  stopped  suddenly,  and,  turning  to  us,  cried,  — 

' '  See  what  an  avalanche !  It  has  covered  our 
tracks." 

An  immense  avalanche  of  ice,  falling  from  the  Dome 
du  Goute,  had  entirely  hidden  the  road  which  we  had 
taken  in  the  morning  over  the  Petit  Plateau.  I  cannot 
calculate  the  magnitude  of  that  avalanche  at  less  than 
five  hundred  cubic  feet.  If  it  had  fallen  as  we  passed, 
another  would  have  been  added  to  the  long  list  of 
fatal  accidents  which  have  occurred  on  Mont  Blanc. 

In  face  of  this  new  obstacle,  we  were  forced  to  seek 
another  road,  or  pass  over  the  avalanche  itself.  In  our 
exhausted  state,  the  latter  course  was  assuredly  the 
simpler  ;  but  there  was  serious  danger  in  it.  A  wall  of 
ice  more  than  twenty  feet  high,  already  partially  de- 
tached from  the  Dome  du  Gofite,  to  which  it  only  hung 
by  one  corner,  overhung  our  path.  The  enormous  serac 
seemed  just  poised  in  air.  Would  not  our  footsteps 
shake  it,  and  determine  its  fall?  Our  guides  consulted. 
Each  one  examined  the  fissure  between  the  mountain 
and  the  alarming   mass,   with  an    opera-glass.      The 


OF   MONT  BLANC  283 

sharp,  well-defined  outlines  of  the  cleft  showed  that 
it  was  freshly  made,  evidently  caused  by  the  ava- 
lanche. 

After  a  short  discussion,  our  guides,  recognizing  the 
impossibility  of  finding  another  road,  decided  to  try 
the  dangerous  pass. 

""We  must  walk  very  fast,  even  inin  if  possible," 
the  J'  said,  ' '  and  in  five  minutes  we  shall  be  safe.  Come, 
gentlemen,  one  effort  more  !  " 

A  five-minutes'  race  is  a  mere  trifle  to  people  who 
are  simply  tired ;  but  for  us  who  were  utterly  worn 
out,  to  run,  even  for  so  short  a  time,  thi-ough  soft 
snow  in  which  we  sanlc  knee-deep,  seemed  impossible. 
However,  we  called  up  aU  om'  energies,  and  after  three 
or  four  stumbles,  pulled  by  some,  and  pushed  by  others, 
we  reached  a  snow-mound,  on  which  we  sank  exhaust- 
ed.    "We  were  out  of  danger. 

It  was  some  time  before  we  recovered.  "We  stretched 
ourselves  out  on  the  snow  with  infinite  satisfaction. 
The  greatest  difficulties  were  over  now  ;  and,  if  there 
were  dangers  still  to  be  run,  we  could  brave  them  with- 
out much  fear. 

Hoping  to  witness  the  fall  of  the  avalanche,  we  pro- 
longed our  halt,  but  in  vain.  As  day  was  advancing, 
and  it  was  not  safe  to  linger  in  those  icy  solitudes,  we 
resolved  to  hurry  on,  and  towards  five  o'clock  we 
reached  the  cabin  of  the  Grands  Mulcts. 


284  FORTIETH   FRENCH  ASCENT 

After  a  bad  night,  and  a  violent  attack  of  fever 
caused  b}'  the  hot  sun,  we  prepared  to  return  to  Cha- 
mouni ;  but  before  starting,  according  to  custom,  we 
inscribed  our  own  and  our  guides'  names,  as  well  as 
the  chief  events  of  our  journe}',  on  a  register  kept  for 
the  purpose. 

Towards  eight  o'clock  we  set  out  for  Chamouiii. 
The  passage  of  the  Bossons  was  difficult ;  but  we  ac- 
complished it  without  an  accident. 

Half  an  hour  before  reaching  Chamouni,  we  met 
some  English  tourists  at  the  chalet  of  the  Cascade  du 
Dard,  who  seemed^  to  be  watching  for  us.  As  soon  as 
they  spied  us  out,  the}-  hastened  to  congratulate  us  on 
oui"  success,  with  eager  s^'mpathy.  One  of  them  intro- 
duced us  to  his  wife,  a  charming  person.  After  we 
had  given  her  a  rough  sketch  of  our  expedition,  she 
said,  in  tones  that  went  to  our  verj-  hearts,  — 

"  How  much  3'ou  are  en\ded  here  by  everybody  !  Let 
me  touch  jour  alpen-stocks." 

And  these  words  were  echoed  by  all. 

The  ascent  of  Mount  Blanc  is  ver}-  difficult.  It  is 
said  that  the  famous  Genevese  naturalist  De  Saussure 
there  sowed  the  seeds  of  the  illness  which  killed  him 
some  months  later.  But  I  cannot  better  close  this 
length}'  narration  than  hj  quoting  the  words  of  M. 
!Markham  Sherwill :  — 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  he   saj-s,  in   concluding   the 


OF   MONT  BLANC.  285 

account  of  Ms  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  "I  should  ad- 
vise no  one  to  make  an  ascent,  whose  success  can  never 
be  of  any  importance  in  proportion  to  the  dangers  he 
runs,  and  causes  others  to  run." 


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UC  SOUTHERM  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  322  091 


DATE  DUE 


■  '  ■ 

R0JO 

DPrn 

ii 


